Are You Smarter than a Serial Killer?
by bookwormlady
Summary: Takes place following "The Bone that Blew." Brennan and the squints are after a serial killer who taunts her with notes left with the victims. When Booth is targeted next, the gang only has 48 hours to solve the case. Can they find the killer in time?
1. A Visit From The Professor

**A/N: I was going to wait until I finished uploading "Closure" but that story's nearly finished and I don't think you all will mind this.**

**Please note the rating! This is somewhat darker that "Closure" and be prepared for a lot of suspense and angst!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the show, not trying to take anything from it except a little fun. Hope that's okay.**

Booth opened his eyes slowly, wondering what was going on.

He was surprised at how hard waking up was. Trained as he was as a sniper, he was used to waking up completely alert and aware. But at the moment his mind was in a fog, and his limbs felt heavy.

Checking his bedroom without moving, he saw nothing out of the ordinary in the dim light that came from the window. He was just about to chalk it up to a dream when he heard a sound. A shoe scraping the floor outside his bedroom.

Booth tried to sit up. He got partway there before his body crashed back down on the bed. What was wrong with him? Was he coming down with something?

The door swung open and a man entered the room. He was dressed in black, including a ski mask that only showed his eyes and mouth. He was carrying a small leather case as he approached the bed.

"Hello, Agent Booth," he said, his voice a pleasant baritone. "Please don't bother getting up, I suspect your Mu Shu pork has had a soporific effect on you."

How did he know what Booth had for dinner? And the rest of it…he had to concentrate to remember what "soporific" meant. Bones would be able to tell him right off…

"Drugged…" he muttered, the word slurring slightly. "You…"

"Very good!" the man said, clapping his gloved hands together. "Yes, Dr. Brennan and her team might be worth all this after all. To be honest, Agent Booth, I've been rather disappointed in their lack of progress with my prior victims. I expected them to know _much_ more than they apparently do."

Booth felt a chill sweep through him. He knew who this man was. The Professor. And all his prior victims had been dead.

He tried to punch at the man. But his swing lacked power, and The Professor easily grabbed his wrist.

"Ah, I suspected you were a fighter, Agent Booth," The man said as he easily restrained the weakened agent. "Now you see, I believe that Dr. Brennan and her team have gotten a little lazy when it comes to my tests. It's not like there's anything important at stake, you see. So, I've decided to add a deadline this time."

Using one hand to pin Booth's wrists to the bed, The Professor reached into the leather case and brought out a syringe. He used his teeth to pull off the protective sheath on the needle and held the syringe up to the dim light.

Booth began to struggle, but he was too drugged to put up a fight. The Professor swept his eyes up and down the agent's body, then seemed to come to a decision. He plunged the needle into the left side of Booth's neck and pushed in the plunger.

Booth gasped as a searing heat started at the injection site. It began to spread throughout his body, and he groaned as he writhed in pain.

"Yes, I'm sorry about that, the initial effects are rather unpleasant," The Professor said as he pulled out an envelope and jotted something down on it. He placed the envelope and the syringe on the pillow next to Booth's head.

"You'll get some _temporary_ relief soon, I promise you. Unfortunately, you are in for a rough time. I'd contact Dr. Brennan as soon as possible – for you, Agent Booth, the clock is ticking."

Before Booth could say or do anything, the man stood and left the room without another word.

Booth lay panting on the bed, his hands clutching at the sheets as the burning continued. _God, am I dying? Am I going to die like this? Please, God, no._

As promised, the burning began to subside. But what replaced it was a numbness that threatened to sweep Booth into darkness – darkness he wasn't sure he'd ever awake from.

He rolled on his right side, fighting to stay awake long enough to get help. His vision blurred and the light was poor, but he spotted his cell phone on the nightstand. It took two tries to get his hand on it.

Booth was glad he had her cell phone number on speed dial. A glance at the clock's red LED display told him it was 11:39 PM – she could be home, or she could be at the Jeffersonian. He prayed wherever she was she had her cell phone nearby.

Her phone rang once, twice. His eyes drifted shut and he forced them open. _Hang on, Seeley, just a few more seconds…_

A third ring, and then he heard her voice. "Booth? What's going on?"

"Bones…" he gasped weakly, his eyes closing despite his efforts, "…help…"

He felt his phone slip through his nerveless fingers. He never heard it hit the floor or Bone's frantic voice calling his name.

**A/N2: So, do I have your attention? :-)**


	2. Daddy Difficulties

**A/N: WOW! You guys are awesome! I'm glad you like this. **

**Now, before you all tell me I'm mean for this chapter, I know. But you'll live. Really. Trust me. ;-)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. Just playing.**

_36 hours previously…_

"It's all your fault, you know."

Booth swallowed the apple pie in his mouth, giving his partner an astonished look. "What? How is it _my_ fault?"

Brennan stabbed at her salad, frowning. "You're the one who asked me not to fire my father. If you hadn't, he wouldn't be at the Jeffersonian and I wouldn't see so much of him."

"Bones," Booth sighed. "What's wrong with seeing your dad? I thought you guys were getting along all right."

"That's not the point," Brennan said. She glared at Booth. "He keeps wanting to talk to me. He's constantly asking if I need anything, am I feeling all right, am I getting enough rest…"

"He's being a father, in other words," Booth grinned.

Brenna rolled her eyes. "Booth, I am an adult and got along perfectly fine without a father for years."

Booth shook his head as he signaled to one of the waitresses for a coffee refill. "Bones, he's trying to connect with you. And he's trying to make up for all the lost time."

"But I don't need a father, Booth. I don't need someone hovering over me, trying to take care of me. I have enough trouble trying to stop _you_ from doing that."

"Ouch," Booth put a hand to his chest, pretending to be in pain. "You sure know how to hurt a guy, Bones."

Brennan blew out an irritated breath. "Booth, I realize it's part of your alpha-male tendencies to be protective of those around you, but you have to realize I've taken care of myself long before I met you."

"But admit it, Bones," Booth said, as his phone rang. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be eating right now. You'd try to get through the day on a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee."

"I suppose I'll have to acknowledge that," Brennan said as Booth answered his phone. "But Booth I've never fainted from lack of food and…"

She paused as she saw the look on Booth's face. Brennan wasn't talented when it came to reading people, but she knew her partner well enough to know that whatever he was being told on the phone wasn't good.

"Okay, we'll be there in –" he glanced at his watch. "-about 20 minutes. Yes, Dr. Brennan is here with me. Right." He snapped his phone shut. "Hurry up Bones, we gotta go." The waitress came by with the coffeepot. "Can I get that to go, please?"

Brennan felt a chill. _Oh no, not another one…_ "Booth, what is it? It isn't…"

The grim expression on Booth's face told her what it was even as he said the words. "Another body. And another note to you from The Professor."

She shuddered as she pushed her plate away, no longer hungry. _Another body. That makes three. What does this killer want?_


	3. With High Regards,

**A/N: Glad you don't mind my backtracking...we'll get back to events in chapter 1 soon, be patient...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Bones," but I am a fan.**

**Shout out to BnBfanatic, who helped me start posting on this site!**

The partners were uncharacteristically quiet as the drove to the crime scene. Brennan was on the phone with Cam, letting her know that yet another body from The Professor would be on its way soon.

When she hung up the phone, she looked out the window with distant eyes. Booth noticed it at once. "Hey," he said.

When she turned to look at him, he said, "We'll catch this guy, Bones. It's just a matter of time."

She shook her head. "Three victims, Booth. Three victims in one and a half months. And we hardly know anything!"

"We will," Booth said, trying to be reassuring. He knew how she felt – this case was causing him to lose sleep as well. "You and your squints are the best, Bones. You'll find out who he is, and I'll arrest him."

"Why does he keep this up?" Bones said. "What does Sweets say? He's read the first to messages, hasn't he?"

Booth rolled his eyes. "As far as I know he has, and I haven't heard anything from Junior yet. I'll light a fire under him after we finish here."

"Here" was a wooded area, popular with weekend campers. It was similar to the areas the first two bodies had been found in – away from residential areas, outdoors, somewhat isolated.

Booth led Bones to the crime scene, marked by yellow tape and a buzz of activity. A man wearing a Park Ranger uniform stepped forward to intercept.

Booth held up his badge. "FBI. I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, and this is –"

"I'm Dr. Brennan," Brennan interrupted, shooting Booth an annoyed look.

"Oh, you're Dr. Brennan," the man said, giving her a once-over. His blond hair was a buzz cut and his blue eyes pale. "The psycho left something for you."

Brennan felt uncomfortable at the man's stare. Booth noticed it right away and took a step forward, forcing the ranger to look at him. "Yeah. That's great. Were you the one who found the body, Ranger Rick?"

The man's cheeks flushed red as he took his eyes off Brennan and shot Booth an annoyed look. "It's Ranger Bill Wheeler, and no, I didn't. Some kids were hiking around here, smelled something, and found it." He waved a large hand towards the crime scene. "Last I saw they were sitting on a log taking turns throwing up."

"Thanks, you've been a big help," Booth said, taking Brennan's arm and leading her away from the ranger. Brennan glanced over her shoulder to see the man still watching them.

"That was rude," she told Booth as he lifted up the crime scene tape for her to duck under.

"Yeah, well I don't think his ogling you qualifies as polite," Booth said as he fell behind her.

"Oh, like you've _never_ ogled a woman!" Brennan said over her shoulder as they passed under the tall trees. "It's typical for men to gaze at women they find physically attractive."

"Typical doesn't make it right," Booth said.

They could both smell the body now – the stench of burning flesh. A buzzing sound told Brennan there would be bugs for Hodgins to work with. As well as…

She took a deep breath as she snapped on a pair of latex gloves. _Don't make presuppositions. Be objective._

There were people all around the body. Someone in a park ranger uniform was snapping pictures. Two boys and a girl who looked to be between 15 and 17 wearing jeans and windbreakers were sitting on a log, looking pale as they talked to someone in a police uniform.

The remains were smoldering on what must have been a campfire. Brennan knelt close to them, seeing past the burnt flesh and vile smells and examining the evidence. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Booth pull out his notepad and a pen.

"The remains are male, age late twenties to early thirties," she said, her eyes scanning the corpse. "It looks like the victim's wrists and ankles were bound. "

"Initial signs of trauma?" Booth asked as he scribbled in his notebook.

Brennan shook her head. "I can't see any yet." She frowned as she looked at the body's face. Even though a good part of the flesh was gone, she could still see an agonized expression. "This person died in pain."

Booth winced. "Like the others." It wasn't a question.

Brennan stood, biting her lip. "It might not be him. It's a different type of victim, and the other two weren't burned in a fire."

"But the first two did have damage to the flesh," Booth said. "And evidence that the victims died in pain. And a note from The Professor."

Brennan looked around the rocky ground. 'Where is the note?"

"Maybe Ranger Rick can tell us," Booth said, Turing and waving over Wheeler. "We were told there was a note addressed to Dr. Brennan?"

"Yeah, and maybe if you ask nice I'll give it to you," Wheeler snapped.

Brenna saw Booth tense, and she quickly stepped in before her partner decided to plow his fist into Wheeler's gut. "Please, that note is a part of the evidence. We really do need it."

Wheeler smiled and Brennan found herself squirming. "Well, Dr. Brennan, since you at least have manners…" he pulled out a clear plastic bag that held a while envelope with her name in an all-too-familiar handwriting.

"Thank you," she said, taking the letter. "And if you're concerned with politeness, you might consider not undressing me with your eyes. Women tend to consider that rude behavior."

Booth smothered a laugh as Wheeler turned all shades of red. Still snickering, he followed his partner under a tall pine tree.

Brennan opened up the letter and began to read. She felt Booth's breath stir her ear as he looked over her shoulder at the latest message from The Professor:

_My dear Dr. Brennan,_

_I must admit, I find myself somewhat disappointed in you and your team. All I've learned of you implied that you were good at what you do. Which is, unless I'm gravely mistaken (please pardon the pun) is catching people such as myself._

_Yet I've given you two victims with all kinds of evidence and I continue to elude you. I don't understand. Are my tests too difficult for you? Was I mistaken in the thought that you would be a worthy opponent for me, one whom I could lose to with honor?_

_Well, no matter. That's all water under the bridge (ask your partner what that means). I've provided you with another puzzle. Perhaps you'll have better luck with this one. I hope so. I grow impatient, Dr. Brennan. I need to know you are worthy. I don't want to seek another._

_If you solve this, I'll be able to congratulate you in person. If not…well, you'll be hearing from me again. _

_With high regards, I remain, _

_The Professor_


	4. A Weary Search For Clues

**A/N: I appreciate all the reviews, the story alerts, etc.! Please forgive me for not responding to the reviews on this and "Closure -" I've been dealing with some health issues.**

**Disclaimer: Bones is owned by Hart Hanson and FOX.**

_25 hours previously…_

Booth looked at the platform filled with _his_ Bones and _his_ squints with mixed feelings of pride and worry.

Pride, because though it was past 10:30 at night, long after everyone up there could have (and, except for Bones maybe, _would_ have) left to go home like normal people, they were all there, giving 100% to the case.

Worry for the same reasons. This case was starting to wear on everyone. The latest body made it worse.

When they'd found the first body with the challenging note from The Professor, they all thought they'd solve it quickly. But in spite of their work, they couldn't come up with anything conclusive.

Then, a month after that, the second body with another taunting note appeared. That had been two weeks ago. Now there was another body. And another note.

Cam, dark circles under her eyes, stood at the head of the table where the body lay. "All right. Let's go over this one more time."

Patrick Gates, an intern who'd been working in Zack's place for the last two months, spoke up first. He wore his blond hair long and in a ponytail, something that Booth had made some snide comments about. Bones had responded by pointing out the anthropological significance of hair until Booth begged for mercy.

"The victim apparently died in terrible discomfort, as did the previous two," Gates said, stealing glances at Bones as if seeking her approval for every word. "There's no sign of trauma to the bones except for a small nick on the left scapula that might have been caused by a syringe."

Bones nodded, her shoulders sagging. "There's signs on the wrists and ankles that he struggled violently. Perhaps when he was set afire."

"You think he was burned alive?" Booth shuddered.

Cam shook her head. "No. I got the tox screen back – there's a variation of the same compound we found in the first two victims."

"Do we know any more about that?" Booth asked. "What it is, what it does?"

Cam shook her head. "I'm not much further on that then I was before. It's definitely toxic – but how it works, I don't know. I _can_ tell you it would have caused the victim a lot of physical pain and distress."

Booth ran a hand through his hair. "Angela, we got an ID?"

The artist nodded, her usual good cheer replaced by melancholy. "Yes. He's Roger Foreman, reported missing four days ago." She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "He was an English teacher. Married for three years, one daughter, aged 8 months."

There was silence as the group absorbed that sad piece of information. Booth pinched the bridge of his nose. _That…_ he thought a word that he knew he'd have to add to his list of things to confess.

A man who was a teacher, with a wife and baby. Before that, a college junior, a girl who spent her spare time working at a food bank, whose body had been partially eaten by two dogs found shot at the crime scene. Before _that_, a man in his mid-fifties who'd been a deacon at his church, whose skin had been eaten away by some kind of acid.

All decent people, at least how Booth defined decent. All who apparently had no connections with each other. All who somehow disappeared without a trace only to be found four or five days later, horrifically dead.

"Booth?"

He jerked his head up, saw Bones looking at him with concern. He realized it was the second time she'd spoken his name. "I'm sorry. What?"

Hodgins spoke up. "I was just saying that based on the maggots and other bugs I found, the guy probably died the day before yesterday. So at least it wasn't the fire that killed him."

"Then why was he bound?" Booth said.

"It probably made the body easier to transport," Bones said. "And he was bound in his captivity – the killer probably chose not to undo them."

"Great," Booth said. "So is there anything else here?"

The team exchanged weary looks with each other. "I'm going over the notes again, seeing if there's something we missed the first two times," Angela volunteered.

"There might be something I can pick up with the soil samples. There's commonalities with all three victims, but nothing that narrows things down," Jack said.

"Mr. Gates and I can go over the bones again, see if there's any clues that will help us identify The Professor," Bones said, already bending over the bones on the table.

"I'll see if I can hurry the lab up with those tox screen results," Cam said. "But we'll do all this tomorrow."

Angela, Hodgins, Gates and Bones all started to protest. Booth stepped forward. "Cam's right. We're all dead tired, and tired means mistakes. Everyone go home and get some sleep."

Angela was the first to obey, her shoulders sagging. Hodgins stuck his hands in his pockets and followed after her, muttering a "See you tomorrow" to Booth as he passed.

Gates took a couple of steps, then paused to look back at Bones, who was still bent over the table. Booth went to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"'Everyone' means you too, Bones. Come on, give this a rest for a few hours."

She looked up at him, and he saw how the stress was etched on her face. He hated that. "Booth, we have to catch him. You know we do."

"We will," he promised. "But not tonight. You're dead on your feet, Bones. Just take a few hours to recharge. I will too. Okay?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but it turned into a yawn. He smiled, knowing he had won. She sighed, stripping off her latex gloves. "Fine. Mr. Gates, I want you in early tomorrow morning so we can resume our examination."

"No problem, Dr. Brennan. Have a good night," Gates said, quickly moving off the platform. Cam waited until she was sure Bones was really leaving before she too removed her gloves.

Booth placed his hand on Bones' back and guided her out of the Jeffersonian. He hated to admit it, but he was tired too. He wanted to catch this killer. Before there was another body. Before there was another note.

Before the killer could hurt Bones' spirit again.


	5. Psyche Profiles and Dinner Invitations

**A/N: Wow! Again, you all are generous with your praise. I hope the story continues to meet your expectations.**

**Please note as we deal more and more into the case I may not have some things right. Three words to remember when that happens: it's fiction, people!**

**Also note the time that starts most of the chapters - will help you keep track.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones. This is for entertainment purposes and not intended to infringe on a copyright.**

_10 hours previously…_

Brennan was torn. Part of her wanted to be back in the lab, working on the bones, trying to find answers that would help her stop The Professor before they found another body.

On the other hand, her rumbling stomach betrayed her when Booth came by asking her to have lunch and then drop in on Sweets to see if he'd come up with anything. She had to say yes to lunch, and while she didn't think much of psychology as a science, it was possible Sweets had some insights that she could combine with the evidence that would help solve this case.

So after a quick lunch at the diner, she let Booth drive them to the Hoover building, where they found Sweets at his desk poring over the photocopies of the three notes The Professor had sent and scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad.

"Wow, this guy…" Sweets said as he looked up and saw the pair. "You guys better have a seat. I have some preliminary observations that might help you."

Booth and Bones took their seats on the couch. Brennan watched as her partner leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Sweets, tell me you know who this guys is and where I can go to slap cuffs on him and I'll turn my cell phone off the next time I come in here."

"That's tempting, Agent Booth, but I'm afraid it's not that easy," Sweets said with a sigh.

"It never is," Booth sighed, sitting back on the couch.

"What are the observations you said you have?" Brennan asked. She wanted to get this over with and get back to the lab, where she thought the answers really were.

"Well," Sweets said, resting his legal pad on his crossed knee and picking up his stress ball, "For one thing, this guy has a huge ego. He thinks he's the smartest, most clever killer you've ever known. He'd _like_ to think he's smarter than you, Dr. Brennan, but he has some doubt on that."

"He's wrong." Booth said flatly. "No killer is smarter than Bones."

She felt a surge of gratitude at Booth's confidence in her. Particularly since this killer wasn't making her feel very intelligent. "What else? I'm having trouble seeing a pattern in these deaths."

"There is a pattern, though not an obvious one," Sweets said. "While the victims seem diverse, their deaths aren't. Each one of them was injected with a toxin that your lab is still having trouble identifying. Each body was treated in such a way so that your expertise, Dr. Brennan, would be required. He wants _you_ on these cases."

"Why? Why Bones?" Booth asked.

"I believe he wants her to catch him."

Brennan's jaw dropped. "He wants to be caught? Then why is he making it so difficult? This is why I hate psychology!"

"I have to go with Bones here," Booth said, shaking his head. "If this guy wants to be caught, all he has to do is show up at my office, and I'll be happy to arrest him."

"You don't understand," Sweets said with a superior air that Brennan found grating. He sometimes was quite arrogant for someone who was an "expert" in a soft science. "He doesn't want to surrender – he wants to be caught. And not by just anyone – but by someone he deems worthy."

"And he thinks Bones is worthy?" Booth said.

"How could he determine that?" Brennan asked.

"The notes indicate that this killer may know Dr. Brennan."

Brennan felt an icy spike ram down her spine. Next to her, Booth tensed, his hands suddenly fists on his thighs. "What do you mean, 'know?' As in, 'heard about?'"

"No, Agent Booth," Sweets shook his head. "I mean as in knows Dr. Brennan personally."

Brennan racked her brain. Someone who _knew_ her, who she perhaps spoke with…someone in her life was _killing_ people? And all to see if she was worthy to stop him? Who could be that sick?

Booth was furious. She could see him changing into alpha-male mode, and while a part of her found it flattering, it also irritated her. Didn't anyone realize she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself?

"Is he a danger to her?" Booth asked. His voice was low and his dark eyes flashed.

"No," Sweets said. "I don't believe he means Dr. Brennan any physical harm."

"Well, that's good," Brennan said. It didn't make her feel a lot better, but she hoped it would calm her partner down.

Booth shook his head, frustrated. "How can you be sure about this?"

"Look, Agent Booth, Sweets said, standing and coming around his desk to face the pair. "I understand this is upsetting, but I sincerely believe this "Professor" has no intention of coming after Dr. Brennan. He _wants_ her to be worthy to stop him."

Brennan's phone chose that moment to ring. Sweets shot her a dark look, but she was relieved at the interruption. She answered without looking at the Caller ID. "Brennan."

"Hey, baby," her dad said. "I was thinking – how'd you like to have dinner with your old man tonight?"

"What old man?" She asked. Booth and Sweets had broken off their conversation and were looking at her with interest.

Her father laughed. "I mean me, sweetheart. Just a nice dinner for the two of us. I found this place not far from my place that makes the best spinach lasagna you've ever tasted."

"Dad…" at that word Sweets got on his "therapist" look and Brennan rolled her eyes. "I'm in the middle of a _very_ difficult case -"

"All the more reason to take downtime!" her father insisted. "Come on, I know if I didn't invite you, Booth would make you eat dinner. Am I right?"

She shook her head. Booth touched her arm. "What is it?" he whispered.

"My dad wants me to have dinner with him tonight," she whispered back.

"Great!" Booth said with a smile. "Say yes."

"Booth…" she hissed.

"Bones, in spite of what the kid says, I'm not happy about the interest this guy is showing in you. I'd feel a lot better if you were with someone tonight – and if not me, then your dad is a great choice."

"I'm comfortable with you," she whispered.

"Temperance?" her father asked. "Are you still there?"

"Just a minute, Dad."

"Okay, well are you comfortable with a night of television hockey?" Booth said with a gleam in his eye. "Because the Flyers are on in a really, really important game and I have a date with takeout and my television tonight."

_Hockey_, she groaned inside. Brennan tried to be interested in the sport but it seemed to her it was an excuse for men with high testosterone levels to brawl. Suddenly dinner with her dad didn't seem so bad.

"Dad, dinner sounds fine," she said. Brennan looked at Booth expecting disappointment but to her surprise he seemed pleased. She wondered if her partner had outmaneuvered her.

After she finished the phone call, she turned to Sweets. "Any other observations?"

Sweets sobered up. "Just one. This guy's getting impatient. The time between the murders is getting shorter."

"Which means…" Booth said.

"Which means if you don't solve this soon, there'll be another body. In less than two weeks."

Brennan slumped back in the couch, already regretting agreeing to dinner. She needed to solve this case. Before another body wound up on her table at the Jeffersonian.

* * *


	6. An Argument and a Phone Call

**A/N: Happy Bonesday! **

**Disclaimer: Still don't own them. Do own a headache, anyone want it?**

_4 minutes before the injection…_

Brennan got to the bottom of the page she was reading – a report that Patrick Gates had left her on some findings in their latest victim – and realized she had no clue of what she'd just read. She swore and went back to the top of the page.

Behind her, she heard the page of a magazine rustle and a squeak on the couch as her father shifted his position. "Everything okay, Temperance?"

She rubbed her forehead. A headache that had started at dinner was persisting despite her swallowing some ibuprofen earlier.

Dinner had been stressful. The food was excellent, as her dad had promised. On the other hand, the conversation at the table that was covered with a red checked cloth tested Brennan's patience.

Her father started out by asking her about The Professor case. She refused to tell him, reminding him (several times, in fact) that he was to have no dealings with the forensic side of the lab.

But his other attempts at conversation didn't fare much better. That wasn't entirely his fault; she couldn't get her mind off the case. Especially after hearing what Sweets had said – that the killer was getting impatient, that he wouldn't wait as long before selecting another victim.

She insisted on leaving without dessert. Her father sighed and got two servings of tiramisu to go. He drove her back to the Jeffersonian, where her car was still parked. She got out and thanked her father for dinner before heading towards the lab.

Before she got to the door her father called out, "Temperance, what are you doing?"

She turned back, trying to stifle the irritation she felt. "I'm going to go over some things about the case."

"Sweetheart, it's 8:30. You should go home."

"Dad," she sighed, her irritation growing, "I've worked late at the lab a number of times. I'm fine."

"Well, all right," her father said. Before she could turn back to the door he ducked into the car and pulled out the takeout bag. "I'll just come sit with you then."

"What?" she said. 'No. No, you don't need to do that."

"Oh, yes I do," he said, coming to stand beside her. "Booth doesn't want you to be alone. True or false."

"That's not the point –"

"It's not, eh?" he said, pulling out his cell phone. "So you're okay with me calling him right now and telling him you're working at the lab alone?"

Her mouth dropped open. _He wouldn't…_ "You don't have his number,' she said.

Her dad grinned. "Wanna bet?" He held the phone up, not letting her see the screen. His thumb hovered over the _Send_ button.

So she let him come in and sit in her office while she tried to find something she hadn't found the first half-dozen times she'd gone over things. His presence distracted and annoyed her.

"Tempe?" he said again. "I asked –"

"I'm fine," she snapped. "I just can't concentrate with you here!"

She turned as he dropped the magazine he'd been leafing through on the couch and leaned forward. "Well, why don't you use me as a sounding board? Bounce some ideas off me?"

"Dad, how many times do I have to tell you –"

"Sweetheart, what are you afraid of? I wasn't found guilty, thanks to you! Why is my help a problem?"

"Because you were guilty!" she said. She stood up and moved away from her father, needing distance.

"I was guilty of helping you, protecting you, as a father should," Max countered, standing as well. "I just want to be your father, Temperance."

"I needed you to be my father when I was 15!" she snapped.

The minute she said it, she wished she hadn't. Her father's face crumpled, and he suddenly looked much older. "I just…" he said, his voice trembling slightly. "Your mother and I…we were just trying…"

She was frozen. She couldn't say anything, couldn't move. Her father ducked his head as his breathing became uneven.

Her phone rang. She couldn't move. At the second ring, her father muttered, "Aren't you gonna get that?"

The words seemed to break her paralysis. She snatched her phone up as it rang a 3rd time. The Caller ID read _Booth_. Curious, she spoke. "Booth? What's going on?"

"Bones…help…"

Booth's voice, more than his words, drove the argument with her father out of her mind. It drove the case out of her mind. She'd never heard his voice so weak, so desperate. And the words fueled the fear.

"Booth?" she heard a strange sound, as if something had fallen. "Booth? What's wrong? What's happening?"

Silence greeted her questions, which caused her fear to morph into panic. "Booth! Say something! Are you all right? _Booth_!"

She jumped when her father touched her arm. Gone was the hurt man, in his place was someone on high alert. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She looked at her phone, then at her father. "Booth…he…he said he needs help – and now he won't say anything!" She shouted into the phone. "_Booth_! Tell me what you need!"

"Did he hang up?"

She glanced at the display. "No, we're still connected." Her voice was shaking – she realized _she_ was shaking. "He sounded so weak…as if he were –"

Her father grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly. "Temperance! Do you know where he is?"

She looked into her father's stern face. "He was planning to be at his place…"

"All right then." Her father grabbed her purse and handed it to her before leading her out of the Jeffersonian. "I'll drive. You give me directions. You know where he lives, right?"

"Yes," Brennan said, then realized what her father intended. "No! Dad, I'll go over there. You don't need –"

"If something's wrong with Booth I'm coming with you," he said. "And I'll drive so you can concentrate on that phone. Maybe you can get him to respond, give us more information."

Brennan would've argued, but she realized that would waste precious time. Time Booth might not have. So she let her father lead her to his car, all the while calling Booth's name on the phone, hoping for an answer.

**A/N2: Aaaaand we're back to where we started! Fasten your seatbelts!**


	7. A Deadline Given

**A/N: Okay, next chapter! I think at this point it's only fair to let you wonderful readers know three things about me:**

**1) I try very hard to keep our beloved team in character and the stories within established canon. Please let me know if I slip up.**

**2) 1 strongly dislike character death stories, so the chances of me writing one is close to nil.**

**3) I am, however, not above torturing characters OR readers...**

**Okay, we all clear on this? Then please keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times and your seatbelt securely fastened and here we go...**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own the show. Unfortunately, still DO own the headache!**

Brennan divided her time on the drive between giving her father directions to Booth's place and begging her partner to respond to her on the phone. The continued silence on the line caused her mind to come up with all kinds of horrible scenarios.

They pulled up to Booth's apartment complex. The first thing Brennan noticed was her partner's car, parked at it's usual spot. "His car's here," she said to her father as they got out of the car. She pulled her gun out of her purse and held it in one hand, her phone in the other.

Her father stared at the gun in her hand. "Baby, that gun's way too big for you."

"Dad, not now." Brennan scanned the area, looking for the fake rock she'd found a few months ago. "There. Booth keeps a spare key under that rock."

Frowning, her father retrieved the key. "Booth's a smart man, but this is silly. Anyone with half a brain could find this."

"I know," Brennan said as she led her father into the building.

It turned out the key wasn't necessary. Booth's apartment door stood slightly ajar. There was the low sound of voices inside.

The minute he saw the door, Brennan's father was in front of her. "Give me your gun."

"Dad –"

He grabbed her gun from her with a stern look. "If you think I'm not going to protect you in a potentially dangerous situation, you aren't as smart as I thought. Now keep quiet and stay behind me!"

Before she could argue her father crept to the door and eased it open wider. Brennan sighed and followed him.

The television was on, casting a dim light in the room. Brennan noticed the remains of a Chinese dinner on the coffee table. But no sign of anyone in the room.

Booth wasn't the neatest person in the world, but he didn't leave food out like that. Something was wrong.

She opened her mouth to call out. Her father noticed this and quickly put his fingers on her lips.

"No," he said softly. "If someone's here, we don't want them to know where we are."

She swallowed the shout she'd been about to utter and nodded. Her father scanned the area, the gun moving in front of him. Aside from the television, the only things she could hear was their soft footsteps and her father's breathing.

They didn't see anyone as they went from room to room. Brennan thought about the last time she'd been there – she hadn't wasted time on a tour, she'd just wanted to confront him. Now she just wanted to find him alive and well.

They came to a door that stood ajar. When Brennan looked in, she forgot about being quiet, forgot that someone might be in the apartment. All she saw was her partner, his left hand dangling over the side of the bed, his body trembling.

"Booth!" She ran to the bed, pushing past her father to do so. She kicked something as she got there – _his phone_, she realized – and bent down to examine her partner.

He was unconscious. His face was damp with sweat. She pressed her fingers to his neck to check his pulse and was alarmed at how hot his skin was. He groaned at her touch but did not wake up. He continued to shake as if he was freezing, even though he was clearly running a high fever.

Suddenly light flooded the room. She turned to see her father at the door, hand on a light switch. "No one else is here. Is Booth all right?"

She shook her head and turned to resume her examination. "Call –" she stopped when she saw two items she hadn't noticed in the dimness of the room.

On the pillow near Booth's head there was an empty syringe and an envelope. In handwriting that was all too familiar to her, it read:

_Dr. Temperance Brennan_

_11:36 PM_

"Tempe?" Her father was at her side. He followed her gaze. "What the…" he reached out towards the envelope.

"Don't touch anything!" she snapped. She saw her father's startled gaze and tried to inject some calmness to her voice. "It's evidence…you shouldn't touch it without gloves." She took another deep breath. "Call 911. Booth is seriously ill."

She ran out of the room. In the bathroom, she yanked a towel off the rack and ran water in the tub until it was tepid. She soaked the towel and wrung out the excess water as best she could then carried it back into Booth's bedroom.

She began blotting her partner's face as her father hung up the phone. "Ambulance is on its way. Anything else I can do?"

"Find some washcloths or towels and wet them with tepid water," she said as she continued to wipe Booth's face and neck. She noticed some blood on her partner's neck – probably where he'd been injected. "Then, see if Booth has any small reclosable plastic bags."

"Evidence bags," her father said, nodding. He left the room.

Brennan turned her full attention on her partner. She yanked the covers down to below his waist, knowing that modesty was the least of his worries. She sponged his chest and began talking quickly. "Booth, it's Bones. I'm here. Wake up now, wake up!"

Finally his eyes fluttered open. The brown orbs were cloudy, unfocused. He tried to push her hands away. "Bones…don't…cold…"

She almost burst into tears at the sound of his voice. "I know it's cold, Booth. But you're running a fever, I'm trying to bring it down."

His teeth began to chatter. "Bones, it's cold…" his eyes started to close.

Brennan saw her father come back in the room out of the corner of her eye. He went to the other side of Booth and pressed a washcloth to his face. "Hey, Booth, come on now, stay awake and tell us what happened."

Booth shook his head. "Drugged…Professor…drugged…"

Brennan looked at the syringe again. She yanked on a pair of latex gloves. "Booth, I know you've been drugged. Did you see him? Did you recognize him?"

"Clock…ticking…" Booth's voice was getting weaker. Brennan's father pulled the covers back up on the shivering agent. "Food…drugged…rough time ahead…"

"Booth, stay with me," Temperance begged. She took the syringe and placed it into a plastic bag that her father handed her. While Max blotted Booth's face Brennan steeled herself and picked up the envelope.

She read the enclosed note, dread growing with each word.

_My dear Dr. Brennan,_

_First and foremost, please do not discard the envelope that contained this note. It has important information for you._

_Please accept my sincere apologies. I had intended to give you more time with your current victim before providing you with another. However, certain circumstances have forced my hand – I do not have as much time to test you as I thought._

_I was also presented with an opportunity to subdue Agent Booth. He was alone tonight, and it was an easy thing to drug his food. I won't tell you how I did it – I'm sure you and your team will quickly determine that._

_If you were contacted soon after my visit to Agent Booth, no doubt you find his symptoms somewhat alarming. Rest assured that with prompt treatment he will experience some temporary relief._

_However, his relief will be temporary. I have recorded the time I injected him with my toxin on the envelope. Approximately 12 hours after that, Agent Booth will begin to manifest certain symptoms. These will include fever, nausea, and body aches. _

_They will start out as minor, but grow in severity as time goes on. In fact, after 36 hours it is quite possible these symptoms will be so severe as to completely incapacitate him. If not then, not long after._

_48 hours after he was injected, if Agent Booth has not received the antitoxin, he will die._

_I feel you have not been urgent enough to solve my crimes. Therefore I have attacked someone I believe you and your team have some feelings for. That, plus a definite deadline, may well be the motivation you need to show yourself worthy._

_Are you more intelligent than I, Dr. Brennan? If ever there was a time to prove it, that time is now._

_With high regards, I remain,_

_The Professor_

**A/N2: It's going to be pretty intense for a while, but the good news for you guys is that the story is completely written and just needs to be uploaded a chapter at a time, so I hope you won't have to wait too long!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	8. A Nightmare and a Chat With a Doctor

**A/N: Okay, I probably shouldn't have mentioned I have the whole story finished...but I don't care how many Furbys are sent my way, you are not getting the whole story tonight! No! No! Um...what's that sound at the door?**

**Disclaimer: Fox and Hart Hanson own Bones. I'm one fan among many.**

_5 hours after the injection…_

_Brennan surveyed the skeleton in front of her on the table. The platform was bathed in white light; the rest of the area was in complete darkness._

_"Victim appears to be a male in his mid-thirties," she said, talking out loud even though she seemed to be alone. She placed a gloved hand on the ribcage. "Several ribs show evidence of older healed breaks. Also, it appears the victim once shielded someone with his body."_

_For some reason she moved immediately down to the feet. She frowned at what she saw. "There's evidence that the victim has been subject to severe beatings in the feet, possibly at the hands of…"_

_Her voice faded. Suddenly, flesh covered the body. Her eyes traveled up to the face, which was no longer a skull, but had features. Features she knew._

_Booth's dark eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling. The expression on his face was one Brennan never saw on it before – pain, horrible pain, was etched into the expression._

_Brennan backed away, her heart threatening to pound right out of her chest. She bumped into someone and whirled around to come face to face with a glaring Cam._

_"It's your fault, you know," Cam said, her voice dripping contempt. "If you had gone to watch hockey with him that night, The Professor wouldn't have gotten to him."_

_"Cam, don't say that!' Angela, dressed in the same outfit she'd worn to Booth's "funeral," appeared weeping next to her boss. "You just weren't smart enough sweetie. That's all."_

_A tug on her hand and Brennan turned to face Parker. His brown tear-filled eyes pinned her as he asked, "Dr. Bones, why did you let my dad die?"_

_She backed away from them – all of them. She wanted to say something, to explain, but she couldn't speak. Then from behind her she heard her father's voice. "Sweetheart?"_

_"No," she shook her head. She didn't want to hear her dad condemn her as well, didn't want to be reminded that she'd failed her partner, her friend…_

"Tempe, come on, wake up!"

"Dr. Brennan?"

She sat up with a jerk, her gasp turning into a hiss of pain as her neck responded to the awkward position it had been in.

The lab was gone. She was in the waiting room of the hospital. Blue plastic chairs lined the cream colored walls. A TV overhead was playing some show she didn't recognize.

Next to her, her father shifted in his chair and Brennan realized that she'd been sleeping on his shoulder. Deputy Director Cullen was standing in front of them, looking concerned.

"I – I'm sorry," she stammered, standing. "I must have dozed off." She looked at her watch and gasped. "Dad, have I been sleeping over two hours? Has the doctor come out?"

"Baby, you needed your rest. And no, the doctor hasn't come out yet." Her father shot Cullen a guarded look. "I'm Max Keenan, Dr. Brennan's father."

Cullen's face went blank. "I'm Deputy Director Cullen from the FBI." He didn't offer to shake hands with Max, and he didn't seem to expect it. Brennan understood that Cullen might not have warm feelings towards her father, given his past. But she couldn't worry about that right now.

"Your squints on top of this?" Cullen asked her. When she'd called him earlier, she'd asked that the Jeffersonian be in charge of the case. Cullen agreed but sent out an FBI forensic team to gather evidence under the watchful eye of Hodgins and Gates, who were also gathering.

"Yes. Ms. Montenegro came by and picked up copies the note for her and will make a copy for Dr. Sweets. I have a couple of copies we made here. Dr. Saroyan has the syringe," Brennan said.

"I'll want to see that note," Cullen said. "But first, I think we should check on Booth."

"I'll just stay here," Max said, sitting back down. With a curt nod, Cullen took Brennan by the arm and led her to the nurses' station.

Cullen's FBI badge did what begging from Brennan couldn't. In minutes a nurse was leading them through the Emergency Room's treatment area. It was busy, with frazzled-looking men and women in white lab coats moving quickly from room to room.

A man's voice was audible behind a door the nurse was leading them to. 'Sir, I don't think you understand the gravity of your condition –"

"No, I understand that fine. What _you_ don't understand is I'm not going to stay here. Now, will you remove this IV or do I have to?"

Brennan felt her eyes sting and she breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Booth's voice was hoarse and groggy, but it had strength to it. He wasn't dead.

The nurse opened the door and Cullen and Brennan stepped into the small exam room. Booth was laying on a bed, covered with a blanket. An IV needle was stuck in his left hand. Next to the bed, a gray-haired man in a white lab coat turned and frowned at the intrusion. "Who are you?"

Booth turned also. He looked very tired, but Brennan was relieved to see that he was alert. "Bones! When did you get here?"

Cullen took a step forward. "I'm Deputy Director Cullen of the FBI. Agent Booth works for me. And this," He gestured to Brennan, "is Dr. Temperance Brennan, his partner. She called the ambulance for Agent Booth and has been waiting for news concerning his condition for _quite_ some time."

The doctor swallowed at Cullen's tone. "Look, I'm sorry. But it's a zoo here tonight." He held up a folder. "I've just been discussing Mr. – Agent Booth's condition with him including my recommendation that he be admitted –"

"I'm not going to be admitted," Booth broke in. "I'm feeling a lot better, and I have work to do!"

"You might be feeling better now –"

"Doctor," Cullen interrupted. "Would you mind giving me a moment with my agent? He was apparently assaulted and I need to find out what happened."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Fine. Maybe you can persuade him to listen to reason."

"Wait!" Brennan said. Three pairs of eyes stared at her. "Just tell us briefly, how is Agent Booth at the moment?"

The doctor looked like he wanted to snap at Brennan, but the look on her face must have told him how worried she was. He cleared his throat as he opened up Booth's chart. "Agent Booth came in with a temperature of 104.8 and muscle tremors. He also appeared difficult to arouse. We started him on anti-inflammatories and IV fluids and drew blood for lab work."

"I'd like copies of that lab work," Brennan said.

The doctor raised an eyebrow at that, but continued. "Initial results indicate that the patient ingested a large amount of Ambien, a sleep medication. We're still trying to determine what caused his other symptoms."

Brennan nodded. "Thank you."

The doctor hesitated before leaving the room. "Director Cullen, you say that Agent Booth was assaulted? Forgive me, but with the amount of medication in his system I have to entertain the possibility of a suicide attempt…"

"Hey!" Booth snapped. He started coughing before he could say anything else. Brennan rushed over and picked up a glass of water and held the straw to her partner's lips.

Cullen's face darkened. "Doctor, I assure you that whatever you found in Agent Booth's lab work was not something he willingly ingested. Now, could I please debrief my agent?"

The doctor beat a hasty retreat. Cullen turned to Booth and Brennan noticed how the man's face softened. The deputy director sat on the end of the bed. "Okay, son, can you tell us what happened?"


	9. What Happened?

**A/N: Yes, I'm tossing up an extra chapter tonight. It has nothing to do with the Furbys at the door. Nope. Uh-uh. Really. Honest.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. I don't own Furbys, either. Could their owner please tell them it's time to go home?**

Booth licked his dry lips. Bones picked up the glass of water and held for him while he took a long, grateful swallow. He could see she was worried about him and he regretted that. She wasn't supposed to have to worry about him. But he was grateful all the same for her presence.

It was hard to think – he was so tired. If what the doctor said was true, then he'd gotten a big dose of a sleeping medication. He guessed he should be thankful that he woke up at all.

Booth raised his head and realized Cullen was still waiting for an answer to his question. The heat he felt on his face suddenly wasn't totally due to fever. "Sir, I'm sorry, please give me a minute…"

Cullen placed a hand on Booth's blanketed leg. "Take your time, Booth. It's all right."

Booth nodded. He closed his eyes for a minute, trying to recall what happened. "I – I ordered takeout and turned on the TV. The Flyers were playing…" he was so tired…maybe he could just sleep a few more minutes…

"Booth?" he felt a soft hand on his face. His eyes opened and he saw Bones' face very close to his. "You need to stay awake, Booth. All right?"

He nodded. If Bones wanted him to stay awake, he'd do his best. "Okay."

"Booth, anything unusual about the food delivery?" Cullen asked.

He tried to remember. "Not sure…it was a kid, he's delivered to me before." There was something else…"He seemed…a little nervous. I think…I think he told me to stay safe, or something like that."

"Why would he say something like that?" Bones asked.

"I dunno…I didn't think a whole lot about it…" Booth rubbed his forehead. A headache was starting. But he knew he had to tell Bones and Cullen what happened – if he could.

"I ate dinner. Was watching the game…and I started feeling drowsy." Booth reached for the glass of water Bones held and took another sip. "I hadn't slept well the night before, figured my body was trying to catch up."

Cullen nodded. "Did you take anything the night before?"

Booth flinched at the question. Sure enough, Bones had heard it. He hadn't wanted her to know…

"No sir," he told Cullen. "I try to do without it, I don't want to _have_ to take it."

"All right, you felt drowsy," Cullen said. "About what time was this?"

Booth rubbed his forehead, willing his brain and his memory to function. "I think…it was ten or a little after. I watched the end of the game, and I decided to go to bed. I – I fell asleep pretty quick, and when I woke up – _he_ was there."

"So you saw him?" Cullen asked. "Can you give us a description?"

Booth closed his eyes, trying to bring back the figure that stood over him. It was a blur. He pounded the bed with his fist in frustration. "Dark. All I remember was dark. He was dressed in black, the room was dark…" He opened his eyes, furious at himself. "I should be able to tell you more than that!"

Booth felt Bones' soft hand rest on his fist. "Booth, you were drugged. Some sleeping medications have amnesiac qualities. It's not surprising your memory is impaired."

"Dr. Brennan is correct," Cullen said. "Just tell me what you can remember, Booth."

Bones squeezed his hand. Booth closed his eyes again, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He tried to concentrate, struggling, to clear the fog that persisted in his mind. _Remember…remember something…_

"His voice," Booth said finally, opening his eyes. "I remember his voice. He came in, injected me with something, and told me –" he swallowed. "he told me the clock was ticking."

Cullen frowned. "Dr. Brennan, perhaps you should let me see that note now."

"Note?" Booth asked, looking from one to another. "What note?"

Bones frowned. "The Professor left a note…for me." She pulled her copy out of her purse.

"Dr. Brennan, please read it out loud for both of us," Cullen said, rubbing a hand about his face.

Bones looked uncomfortable. She glanced at Booth, then cleared her throat and began reading.

The fog in his brain was dispelled by the words his partner read. One phrase echoed in his mind over and over. _"48 hours after he was injected…Agent Booth…will die."_

Booth felt a thrill of fear. He wondered what time it was, how much longer did he have?

_Get a grip! _he told himself firmly. _Don't let this creep beat you before you even start fighting back!_

Cullen looked stunned. He took the copy of the note Bones handed to him and glanced at it again. "Hm…Agent Booth, perhaps you'd best remain in the hospital for now."

"No!" Booth said. At his boss' raised eyebrow, he added, "Sir."

"Booth…" Cullen sighed. "Seeley…according to this note, your health will begin to deteriorate in hours…here at the hospital, they can run tests, keep you comfortable…"

"I don't want to be comfortable, sir," Booth said. He leaned forward slightly, hoping he could make Cullen understand. "This monster targeted me. Worse, he did it to get to my people. I can't just lay here and wait for this to kill me – I have to do _something_."

Booth and Cullen locked eyes for a full minute. Cullen gave in first. "All right. I'll discuss it with the doctor." He stood. "On one condition."

"Sir?"

Cullen looked at Bones. "Dr. Brennan, I want you to keep an eye on your partner. If you discover he needs to return to the hospital, you will do what you have to in order to get him here, including shooting him. All right?"

Booth felt his jaw drop. "Hey, wait –"

"I'll do it," Bones said.

Cullen nodded. "All right. I'll be back with the doctor."

After Cullen left, Booth looked at Bones. She stared right back at him. "What?" she asked. "If the situation were reversed, you'd agree to the same thing."

Booth sighed. "All right. But Bones, I gotta work on this. You understand?"

"I do," Bones said. She hesitated, then touched his arm. "We'll find the antitoxin, Booth. We _will_ solve this."

He smiled at her. In a war of the minds between a serial killer and Bones, he'd bet on Bones every time.

Booth just wished The Professor's words didn't keep echoing in his head.

_"48 hours after he was injected…Agent Booth…will die."_


	10. The Race is On

**A/N: Glad you guys were happy with 2 chapters yesterday! I might load a second chapter tonight - we'll see how I feel.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the show Bones. I do own all the dvd's so far and a few Itunes episodes.**

_Approximately 12 hours after the injection…_

Brennan stifled a yawn behind her hand as she bent over the skeleton on the platform. She wondered if she had ever felt this tired.

Without taking her eyes off the wrist bone she was examining, she reached back for he coffee cup. Someone placed it in her hand. She looked up to see Patrick Gates standing slightly behind her, his face showing fatigue and worry.

"Thanks, Mr. Gates," she said. Glancing inside her mug she saw it was empty. "I'm going to go get some more coffee. Look at the right wrist bone again – see if you notice anything that will help us know what condition this man was in when he died."

"Yes, Dr. Brennan." Gates said. He moved into place and bent over the body part in question, his teeth worrying his bottom lip.

On the way to the break room, Brennan decided to stop by her office and check on Booth. It was a logical thing to do, she told herself: given how little they knew about the toxin in his body, constant examination was wise.

She tried to push back the thought that the real reason was she was afraid if she didn't check on him often he'd slip away from them all.

When Brennan got to her office, she found the FBI agent stretched out on her couch. His shoes were off and his red, white, and blue socks were clearly visible. His jacket was draped over the back of the sofa.

Booth had his cell phone pressed to his ear. He held a finger up to Brennan and continued to talk. "So that's all he can give us?...Yeah…I doubt it, he's delivered to me before, seemed like a nice kid…Right…Yes sir, I feel fine…yes, I have the medicines the hospital discharged me with, haven't needed to take them yet…" He rolled his eyes at Brennan. "Yes sir, Bones is keeping an eye on me. It's one reason I'm working from the Jeffersonian rather than my office…I will, sir. Thank you, sir."

Booth hung up his phone and sighed. "They talked to the delivery kid."

"And?" Brennan said. She studied her partner's face. He looked tired – everyone did at this point – but otherwise fine. She wished she could believe The Professor had lied about the injection. Her mind knew better.

Booth swung into a sitting position. "The kid came to the foyer and there was an older man standing there – gray suit, earpiece, sunglasses. Said he was Secret Service and was checking any deliveries to me because of a threat made."

"That's all the description you got?" Brennan asked, dismayed.

Booth sighed and nodded as he placed a hand on the back of his neck and stretched. "Pretty much. Kid said the guy had gray hair but he thinks it was a wig. Anyway, guy grabs the food, takes it over to a corner, comes back and pronounces it okay. Also tells the kid not to mention this to me, they don't want me to worry."

Brennan felt her shoulders slump. "I can't believe it! I can't believe that young man couldn't give us a better description!"

"Give him a break Bones. He's not trained to be observant, and apparently the so-called agent was pretty intimidating." Booth grabbed his shoes and started to put them on. "The wig angle _might_ be helpful."

"I'll have Hodgins keep an eye out for gray hairs," Brennan said. She watched as Booth got to his feet and stretched. "What are you doing?"

He gave her an odd look. "I thought I'd stretch my legs a bit, then sit with you guys on the platform for a while."

"But don't you think you should…you should take it easy?" Brennan asked.

"Bones, give me a break, if I wanted to take it easy I wouldn't have worked so hard to get out of that hospital. And we had a deal – if I came here so you could work I wouldn't make you get some sleep. And to be honest, you look like you need it a lot more than I do right now."

Brennan sighed. She'd wanted to take Booth home after he was discharged. He was only willing to stop by his place to get a shower and some clothes (he was embarrassed that he had to leave the hospital with only his boxers and t-shirt with Max's jacket around him).

When she'd argued with him, he said he'd go to bed if _she'd_ get some sleep as well. Her father took Booth's side on it, with the result being Booth was working with the help of his phone while sprawled on her couch while she and her team raced against the clock.

She looked at him closely. He looked all right as he shrugged on his jacket. A glance at her watch made her shiver – it had been twelve hours. According to The Professor, he could start manifesting symptoms at any time from this point on.

He put a hand over her watch. "Don't, Bones. Please, don't keep one eye on the clock and one eye on me."

She flinched. Looking at him, she decided to try to persuade him to rest one more time. "Booth, rest might help delay some of the symptoms…"

He frowned. "Bones, come on, you know that even if I rest from now on it won't stop this thing from killing me!" he snapped.

Brennan felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water over her. She tried to speak, to explain, but nothing came out.

Booth's face went from anger to chagrin. "Oh, blast, Bones, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." He rubbed his neck again, and shot her a small charm smile. "I guess maybe I'm more tired than I thought."

She swallowed. "It – it's all right. I just wasn't expecting you to – to be so _blunt _about it."

"I, I shouldn't have said it," Booth insisted. "I'm mad at this Professor creep, no reason I should take that out on you, right?"

She nodded. Glancing down, Brennan realized she was still holding her empty coffee cup. "I was going to get some coffee. Do you want some?"

"Tell you what," Booth said, easing the cup from her hands. "To make up for being a jerk, I'll get the coffee and bring it to you on the platform. All right?"

"All right," she nodded. Getting back to the platform was a good idea. That was where she'd find the answers. That was where she could help Booth. She was no good at words. No good at providing emotional support.

But she was great at catching killers. And she vowed to herself she'd catch this one no matter what.


	11. Looking After Their Own

**A/N: Okay, MickeyBoggs asked for the next chapter so nicely I'm posting it now. Probably the last one for today, though, since the muscle relaxer I'm having to take for neck spasms is kicking in big time...**

**Disclaimer: I own a laptop, a computer, and the cutest beagle in the universe - but I don't own Bones.**

When Booth walked into the break room, he saw that the coffeemaker was empty. He started to make a fresh pot, all the while mentally beating himself for his treatment of Bones.

_She's trying to help you, you idiot! _he fumed while he measured out ground coffee – he noticed the Jeffersonian rated a higher grade of coffee than the FBI did, by a long shot – and filling the carafe with water. _So what do you do when she tries to say you should rest, her way of saying she's worried about you? You bite her head off! Nice going, Seeley!_

He leaned against the counter while the coffee brewed, pinching the bridge of his nose. A headache was starting to throb, and he could tell it was tuning up to be a nasty one.

The scolding voice in his head changed to that of The Professor. _A headache? Ah, the symptoms are starting! You're in for a rough time, Agent Booth. You can't stop me._

"It's just a headache," he muttered out loud. "Just a headache. You won't get to me."

_Is that __fear__ in your voice, Agent Booth?_ _The voice took on a mocking tone. Shouldn't you call your little boy and your brother and say goodbye? The clock is ticking…_

"Stop it, Seeley!" he told himself sharply. "Stop doing this to yourself! Don't let this turn into a mental game for you!"

"Agent Booth?"

Booth jerked his head up to see Patrick Gates looking at him oddly. The ponytailed squint shifted from foot to foot. "Umm…I was just getting some coffee…is everything all right?"

"Yeah," Booth said quickly. He straightened up; he had to be strong for the team, no matter how he felt. "Coffee's fresh." He turned and refilled Bones' cup and poured a cup for himself.

Gates stepped next to him, with a "Finding Nemo" mug in his hand. He spoke without looking at Booth. "I'll do everything I can, Agent Booth. I promise."

"Yeah, thanks," Booth said, keeping his eyes on the cups of coffee in his hands. He walked quickly out of the break room, trying to tell himself his headache hadn't gotten worse.

When Booth stepped into the platform area, he stopped a moment to observe the squints. What he saw filled him with emotion.

They were all up there, except for Patrick Gates. Bones, Cam, Hodgins, and Angela were all busy studying something or working on a computer. All of them appeared to be exhausted. That was no surprise: Booth knew for a fact that Bones had gotten very little sleep in the past 24 hours. And she'd called in the squints, who as far as he knew had come here in the wee hours of the morning and showed no signs of leaving.

Booth had seen the team act in a similar way on cases. Their desire for justice was one of the things he admired about them. But there was a fierce intensity in the air that he'd never seen before.

He realized it was because of _him_. The squints were going above and beyond the call of duty because he was in danger. It put a lump in his throat, that this group he often teased would care that much.

He coughed, and Bones' head shot up. "Booth?"

He managed a weak smile. "I'm fine, Bones," he said, not bothering to mention his headache, which actually seemed to have receded a little. "I just…I'm, I'm really grateful for what you guys are doing here. I know I don't tell you how good you are at your jobs often enough…"

He drop his gaze to the floor, embarrassed. When he looked up, Angela was standing in front of him, her beautiful eyes shining with tears. The artist pulled him into a hug. "You're one of us, Booth," she said. Pulling back, she put a gentle kiss on his cheek. "We go all the way for one of our own."

"Yeah," Hodgins confirmed, clapping a hand to Booth's shoulder. "Wouldn't do to lose the most decent G-man out there."

Cam was next, hugging Booth tightly. "We're here for you, Seeley."

Booth looked towards Bones. He knew she was uncomfortable in situations like this, and he didn't want her to feel pressured to do something that would push her past her limits.

She walked over to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. Raising herself on tiptoe, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Partners look after each other," she said, her voice sounding as if she were fighting tears. "You've been there for me so many times…"

Booth felt himself blushing. "Thanks, Bones." He looked into her beautiful blue eyes and knew he was fortunate to have someone like her as a partner…

"Hey!' Max came into the room. "How's everyone doing?"

Bones stepped away from Booth. He understood and held out her mug. "Here's your coffee, Bones," he said.

"Thanks," she answered, taking the cup and sipping from it. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm done with the kids for the moment and thought I could help you guys out here," Max said, standing on the stairs, waiting for someone to let him in.

Booth saw Bones' forehead wrinkle in frustration. "Dad, no. You can't be involved in cases!"

"Sweetheart, I'm already involved," Max argued. "I know what's happened to Booth. You think I'm gonna sit by and do nothing? At least let me be a sounding board!"

"Dad, that's not part of your job!" Bones insisted. She looked to Cam for confirmation.

Patrick Gates came in with his mug. He looked from Max to Cam. "What's up?"

Cam looked at Booth with a questioning glance. He thought for a few seconds and nodded.

"Mr. Gates, let Mr. Keenan come onto the platform," Cam said. When Bones opened her mouth to protest Cam continued, "Look, Dr. Brennan, I know you have issues with your father, but right now I'm not going to turn down any help."

Bones turned to Booth as her father came up the stairs. "Booth, you know this is inappropriate –"

"Sorry," Booth said. "I'm with Cam on this one." _And you need to be comfortable with your dad. If this helps do that, I'll almost be happy I got injected._

Brennan shook her head in exasperation. "Fine." She turned towards her father. "You do only what we tell you though. I don't want this killer to walk because of you. Understand?"

"Perfectly," Max said, finding a metal stool and sitting down. "So, what can I do to help?"

Cam looked from one tired face to another. "Let's review what we know so far," she said. "Booth, anything on the delivery person?"

"Yeah," Booth said. "Not a real solid description, but the guy in question might have been wearing a gray wig."

"This guy had access to your food?" Hodgins asked. "Because I gotta tell you, there was a lot of Ambien in that stuff. I'm surprised you're awake."

"Yes," Booth said. He sketched out what he'd told Bones earlier. "So, that explains why I couldn't fight him before."

Max raised his eyebrows at the bitterness in Booth's tone. "Hey, how were you to know your food was tampered with? You did the best you could here."

Booth shook his head. He sat on another stool and swallowed some coffee, his headache coming back with a vengeance.

Cam went to her computer and pulled up a report. "I've got blood samples to the lab here, and there is some kind of toxin in your system, Booth. It's pretty close to what our third victim had in him, and similar to the first two victims, though I'm no closer to understanding how it works."

"It's not a natural-occurring toxin, is it?" Max asked.

"No," Cam said. "I've searched everywhere, there's nothing equivalent out there."

"Hm," Max said, looking thoughtful.

Patrick Gates cleared his throat. "The wrists were broken. Also, there are fracture patterns on the back of the skull."

"What, The Professor beat this guy up?" Booth asked.

"No," Bones said. She kept her eyes on the skeletal remains in front of her and continued to speak in what Booth thought of as her "Vulcan" voice – the one she used when she was putting emotional distance between herself and a victim. "I think the pain the victim was experiencing was so intense he was banging his head against a concrete wall. His wrists broke because of how much he was struggling."

Booth felt his throat dry up. He swallowed another mouthful of coffee before speaking. "Oh…wow, Bones."

An awkward silence fell among the group. Hodgins broke it first. "Maybe the concrete particles in the skull will tell me something about where he was kept."

"Sounds good," Cam said. She turned to Angela. "Have you found any clues in the notes?"

Angela took a shuddering breath before she spoke. "Well, they were all written by the same person. And I noticed something in this last note I missed the first time I looked at it."

Minutes later they were standing around the Angelator. First Angela displayed a part of the first note they'd received. "Okay, I've taken words that were common to all the notes: for example, 'Brennan,' 'regards,' and 'Professor.'" The three words flashed and were pulled out of the letter in a column, one under the other.

"Now, the same words in this last note," Angela said. The same three words came up in a second column next to the first.

Bones frowned. "I don't see what the significance is. The handwriting is the same…"

Booth frowned. He had to agree with Bones.

"Look," Angela said, manipulating a pointer. "The handwriting is the same – but it's worse. See how it's become less clear here, and how the lines have started to slide to the right?"

He did see it once she pointed it out. "So? What does that mean?"

Angela sighed. "I'm not Sweets, but I think I have a theory. In high school I had a friend who got really sick in the middle of the school year. I'd pick up her homework assignments so she could keep up. As she got sicker, her handwriting really got trashed."

"So you believe The Professor is ill?" Cam said.

"Yeah, I think it's possible," Angela said. "It would fit with the sudden urgency he's displayed. Maybe he's gotten some of what he's giving others."

"I doubt that," Hodgins said. "Mind you, it would be great karma if it were true…"

Max scratched his face while he examined the display. "I have a suggestion." When everyone looked at him, he continued. "Dr. Saroyan, you think someone made this bug. That doesn't sound like something just anyone could do."

"Not everyone could," Bones said, suddenly thoughtful. "A complex toxin like this – it would take a biochemist, an excellent one."

"Do you know any biochemists, Bones?" Booth asked, suddenly interested.

He watched as he partner's face grew thoughtful. "There was one…I took a class with him a few years ago, about the anthropological ramifications of using poison as a tool of assassination." Her eyes widened. "Booth, you don't think –"

Booth pulled out his phone. "I think we need to see if this guy is still in the area, and then bring him in to see how he's feeling." As he pushed speed dial for the Hoover Building, he glanced at Bones' father. "Good call, Max."

He saw Max beam at the praise and look at his daughter for a response. While he gave Charlie instructions, he saw Max's face fall as Bones didn't even look at him or acknowledge his contribution.

_I'll have to talk to her about this later_, Booth thought, placing a hand to his temple and feeling the warmth of his skin as well as pain. _She can't avoid him forever_.

Bones shot him a concerned look. "Booth, are you feeling all right?"

Oops. He gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm great, Bones, just great."

It wasn't a total lie. If this guy was the one they wanted, he'd be cured. And Booth could handle the discomfort for now.

He refused to think about what they'd do if he wasn't.


	12. First Symptoms

**A/N: Okay! I got out of the house, am starting to feel human again, and the Furbys quieted down once I gave them some chocolate. So here's the next chapter! Will try to upload at least one more tonight!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the show, or the characters. This is only for entertainment purposes.**

_Approximately 13 ½ hours after the injection…_

Dr. Temperance Brennan was profoundly annoyed with herself. And as it often had recently, her father was the reason.

She didn't understand her leg-jerk (was it leg?) reaction to her father's offer to help. Cam was correct – at this point they'd be foolish to turn down her father's help. And when Booth had been kidnapped a couple of years ago, Max Keenan had proven to be invaluable.

But when he asked to be involved this time, her first reaction was to say "no." What was she thinking? Yes, her father had been just getting in her way lately, wanting to find a way into her life when she wasn't ready for him to do so…but was she really willing to put Booth at risk because of her difficulties with her father?

"I hate psychology," she muttered, dipping a French Fry in ketchup.

Booth chuckled. "This is news?"

She gasped. _Did I say that out loud?_ "Um…no. I'm just gathering cloth, I suppose."

"I think you mean you're wool-gathering, Bones," Booth chuckled, then grew serious. "I know this is hard for you. I'm sorry."

Bones moodily chewed on another fry. "Booth…Carl wouldn't do something like this. I can't believe he's The Professor."

Booth had tracked down Brennan's former teacher and boyfriend, Dr. Carl Peterson, a renowned biochemist who resided in Richmond. If anyone could have fashioned the toxin, he was one of the few.

An agent was being sent to his home to escort the doctor to the Hoover Building, where Booth would interrogate him. While they waited, the partners decided to catch lunch in the diner.

"And that's not even why I was wool-gathering…" Brennan said as she sipped her coffee.

"Well, why were you?" Booth asked. He offered her a French Fry from his plate.

"My dad," Brennan sighed. "I mean, it's logical to include him in this investigation, and I said no! What was I thinking?"

"I don't know, Bones. How'd dinner go last night?"

"It was…tense. And then, right before you called, we had a fight."

"I think that explains it then," Booth shrugged. "You had that in the back of your mind, and that's why you reacted the way you did."

"I hate psychology," Brennan said. "I'm just no good at using my heart, Booth. See the trouble it's causing?"

"Don't say that, Bones," Booth said, flashing her a tired smile. "You just need more practice, that's all."

Before Brennan could reply to that, Booth's phone rang. He pulled it off his belt. "That's probably the FBI, letting us know they've got Dr. Peterson."

Brennan nodded. She looked for their waitress. "See if we'll have time for you to have your pie," she said, raising a hand to get the woman's attention.

"Just a sec," Booth said on the phone. "Bone, don't bother. I'm not that hungry."

"What?" Brennan turned towards him feeling confused. Then her eyes fell to her partner's plate.

Half of Booth's cheeseburger remained uneaten. The fries were almost gone, but she realized she had been eating far more of them than he had.

_This_ was why she shouldn't use her heart. She was so focused on her father she hadn't been paying attention to her sick partner. As he finished up his phone call, she noticed the small grimace in his expression, and how tense his shoulders were.

He put his phone away. "Dr. Peterson should be at the Hoover in about 10 minutes." He saw Brennan staring at his plate. "Bones?"

"Booth." She worked to keep the concern she was feeling out of her voice. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," he said as he wadded up his napkin and dropped it on his plate. "Let's get going."

"Don't lie to me!" she snapped. "You're in pain, and you've lost your appetite. Are you running a fever?"

Booth grabbed her wrist before she could touch him. "I can do my job Bones. That's all that matters."

She bit her lip. Part of her wanted to force Booth in the SUV and drag him to the hospital. He was starting to have symptoms – and they would grow worse.

But she understood what he was saying. If it were her in his place, she would want to be doing her job until she was unable to stand – and even then she'd try to find a way.

Brennan didn't know if it was her head or her heart making this decision. She only knew that it was the right decision.

"I know you can do your job, Booth," she said, drawing her hand back. "And I'm not going to stop you. But in return, I need you to be honest with me about your physical condition. The hospital gave you medicine that should help some of the symptoms. And if you keep me informed I'll do all I can to keep you functioning. Agreed?"

She stared into Booth's eyes. He stared back, searching her face. She saw his shoulders sag with relief. "Agreed."

Brennan nodded. "Now, are you running a fever?"

He nodded. "A slight one, I think. I took some ibuprofen before we came here. I had a headache." She saw his Adams Apple bob. "You nailed the other symptoms. But I can still work, Bones, you know that, right?"

"I do," she nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. "And I'll back you all the way."

He cleared his throat. "Thank you."

She shook her head. "We're partners. The center."

Booth pulled out his wallet and tossed some bills on the table. "Well, let's go have a chat with this old friend of yours, okay?"


	13. Doctor Carl Peterson

**A/N: As promised, another chappie. Hope these faster updates aren't spoiling you all rotten...**

**Disclaimer: Fox Broadcasting and Hart Hanson own the television show "Bones." I don't. Any questions?**

_Approximately 14 hours after the injection…_

As Booth pulled into a parking space at the Hoover building, he told Brennan, "Okay. Now when we get inside, I want you to be in the observation room with Sweets."

"What?" Brennan hadn't expect that. "Why can't I help you interrogate Carl? I know him."

"Yeah, but he doesn't know you're involved in this yet," Booth said with a small smile. "See, I talk to him, get him to say some things, and then – wham!" he said clapping his hands, "I catch him in a couple of lies, then bring you in to confront him!"

"Ah," Brennan said as she shut her car door. "I get it. You know, you're quite talented in this area, Booth."

"That's me, Bones," Booth said, throwing her a cocky grin. "I'm a _special_ agent."

Once inside, Booth headed to his office while Brennan went to the observation room. Sweets was already there, looking into the interrogation room. Carl was already sitting in there, his fingers tapping the table.

It had been a couple of years since Brennan had seen her former professor and lover. Carl was a little balder, his dark brown hair concentrated on his temples. His beard was flecked with gray. But his black eyes still held an unnerving intensity.

"How's Agent Booth?" Sweets asked.

"He's doing all right, all things considered," Brennan said, staring at Carl. She tried to imagine him writing the notes she'd gotten.

"And how are _you_ doing, Dr. Brennan?" Sweets asked.

Brennan fought the temptation to roll her eyes. "I'm not the one who's ill. So my condition is not relevant."

"On the contrary, your condition is quite relevant," Sweets said, taking a step closer to Brennan. "After all, Agent Booth's life is apparently dependent on your finding this murderer. That would cause stress in just about anyone."

"Fortunately, I'm not just anyone," Brennan said, not bothering to look at the psychologist. She tapped her fingers on her pants leg, wishing they could get this over with.

A couple of minutes later, Booth strode into the interrogation room. "Dr. Peterson, I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth. Thanks for coming in."

Brennan saw Carl shoot Booth a hostile glance while shaking his hand. "Given you had an FBI agent – I believe the term is 'bring me in' – I'm not sure what you're thanking me for. I wasn't aware I had a choice."

Booth smirked as he sat down across from the biochemist. He had a file folder in his hands and he flipped it open. "Well, the important thing is you're here and we can chat for a few minutes. According to my information, you're one of the top biochemists in the United States."

"Actually, that isn't entirely accurate."

Booth raised an eyebrow. "It isn't?"

"I'm one of the top biochemists in the world, Agent Booth," Peterson said calmly.

Brennan shook her head. She saw that Carl's ego was just as big as ever – that was one of the things that had started to irritate her near the end.

"Well, I stand corrected," Booth said. "You published a paper last year about how the government could and should make greater use of poisons to eliminate targets rather than soldiers and black ops."

Carl cocked his head. "Well, I believe the concept makes sense. With the right poisons, the risk to the assassin is far less than if they attempted to use a show of force."

"Yes, I see you suggest a time-release kind of poison," Booth said.

"I am surprised you read the article, Agent Booth," Carl said, a eyebrow raised. "I thought it was rather technical."

Booth shot the scientist an annoyed look. "I had it translated."

"I see," Peterson said. "Why the interest in this, Agent Booth? Is the FBI wishing to explore this possibility?"

Booth leaned back in his chair. "I'm more interested in knowing if you've been working on this kind of toxin. Or do you just sit around dreaming up theories?"

"Wow, they're dueling with each other," Sweets muttered.

Brennan saw Carl tense at her partner's last question. "I don't see why I should answer that question, Agent Booth."

"Because I asked you to?" Booth asked.

Carl shook his head. "I'm afraid I'll need more than that. All the young man you sent to my home told me was that you wanted to ask me some questions. No details." Carl stood up. "If you aren't more forthcoming, I'm afraid there's nothing more to discuss."

"Sit down," Booth said. His voice was quiet, but the tone was steely.

Carl hesitated. He stared at the agent, a frown on his face.

"I said, sit down," Booth said, standing himself. "I have a few more questions for you."

Peterson lowered himself back into his chair. "Well, let's get on with it."

Booth glanced towards the mirror. Brennan knew he couldn't see her, but she met his eyes anyway, wanting to give him some reassurance.

"Tell me, Dr. Peterson," Booth said, dropping the file on the table. "Have you ever been acquainted with a Doctor Temperance Brennan?"

Carl looked puzzled. "Tempe? Yes, of course. She was a student of mine a couple of years ago."

"More than a student, wasn't she, Doc?" Booth asked, his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, please, is_ that _what this is about?" Carl scoffed. "Tempe was an adult, and our…relationship…was consensual. If she's claiming otherwise – "

"Who broke it off, Doctor?" Booth asked. He looked uncomfortable. _Probably embarrassed about Carl mentioning our relations_hip, Brennan thought with a small smile.

"She did," Peterson said with a grimace. "But I wasn't unhappy about it. I mean, she was good in bed, but still –"

Booth's eyes darkened as he rested his hands on the table and leaned over Peterson. "Come on, Doctor, you may be an egghead, but you're still an man, right? It never feels good when a woman dumps you."

"Ooo, this will be interesting," Sweets said.

"Well, if I were insecure in my manhood, perhaps it would be an issue."

"You think you're smarter than she is, don't you?"

"I don't _think_ it," Carl said acidly. "I _know_ it."

Booth straightened up. "And I'm sure you'd want her to know it, wouldn't y-"

He stopped talking. Brennan watched in horror as her partner's face got pale. He began to sway, clutching the back of a chair for support.

_"Booth!"_

Brennan ran out of the observation room and pushed past a confused Agent Adams. She was remotely aware of Sweets behind her. She ran past a confused Carl Peterson, who was half-standing.

"Tempe? What are you doing here?"

She ignored him. She grabbed Booth's arm, feeling it tremble beneath her fingers. "Booth? Booth, what's going on?"

His head was down. She saw his face was white and sweat trickled down his face. "I – I just got dizzy…and I feel sick to my stomach."

"All right, Sweets and I will get you out of here – " she started to pull his arm over her shoulders.

"No!" Booth gasped. "Just – just help me sit down."

Sweets quickly pulled out a chair. Brennan almost argued but realized how difficult it would be to move Booth very far. She helped him sink into the chair. "Put your head between your knees," she told him. "Where's the medicine the hospital gave you?"

"Jacket pocket," Booth said. He had his head down, his hands clasped loosely between his knees.

"Sweets? Get me a glass of water," Brennan ordered, fishing out the small bottles from Booth's pocket.

Sweets nodded and hurried out. Adams was still in the room, his gaze switching from Booth to Peterson.

Carl was angry. "Temperance, what is going on here? Why is the FBI questioning me about you?"

She felt her own temper rising. She never thought Carl would be capable of something like this, but perhaps she was wrong. "Carl, if you did this to him, you tell me and help us cure him or I swear –"

"If I_ what_?" the biochemist went from furious to stunned. "Why would you possibly think –"

He stopped talking and stared at Booth. Carl sank back into his chair, a troubled look on his face.

Sweets came back with water. Brennan had gotten the pills out and offered them to Booth. "Swallow these," she told him. "They'll help you feel better."

He nodded. The agent was shaking so badly he couldn't pick up the pills. Brennan gently tipped them into his mouth and held the water for him to drink.

Booth sighed. 'Thanks," he muttered, still staring at the floor.

Peterson reached out to examine the pill bottles. Sweets grabbed them. "I don't think you need to be handling these, sir."

The biochemist looked worried. "Temperance, please, answer this question: this illness Agent Booth is suffering from – it's not naturally occurring, is it?"

Brennan looked at Carl, her feelings in turmoil. Booth stirred next to her. "Don't tell him anything, Bones."

Peterson swore and slapped the table. "I had nothing to do with this! Temperance, you know I wouldn't be capable of such an atrocity."

She didn't answer. Carl huffed. "What must I do to convince you people!"

Brennan tried to think of something, but her mind was drawing a blank. Next to her, Booth spoke, his voice shaking slightly. "Say, 'For you, Agent Booth, the clock is ticking.'"

"What?" Carl's jaw dropped.

"Do it," Brennan said. She sat down next to Booth, a hand on his arm.

Looking as if he thought he was in a room of insane people, Carl parroted. "For you, Agent Booth, the clock is ticking."

"Not like that," Booth said. He raised his head. Brennan noticed he was still terribly pale, but he looked a little stronger. "Lower. More menacing. Like you mean me harm."

Peterson frowned and studied the agent across from him. He sighed and complied. "For you, Agent Booth, the clock is ticking."

Brennan shivered. She'd never heard Carl sound so dangerous before. She glanced over to Booth.

Her partner had closed his eyes. She saw his brow wrinkle in thought.

Then with a disappointed sigh Booth opened his eyes. "I don't think it's him."

Brennan felt relief wash over her. But in contrast Booth looked troubled. She wondered why but turned to her former professor. "Booth was injected with a manmade toxin. Do you know anything about that?"

Peterson rubbed his mouth. "I need to make a phone call. In private. Then I'll tell you all I can."

"Okay," Booth said, his eyes on his clenched hands on the table, "Adams, take Dr. Peterson to a room he can make a phone call, then bring him back here."

Once Adams and Peterson left the room, Brennan said, "Booth, maybe he knows something. He is good at what he does – maybe he can help."

She saw her partner's shoulders sag. "It's not him, Bones. We're no closer to The Professor than we were before." With a shuddering sigh, he finished. "And this – this _thing_ inside me – it's hurting me, Bones. It's just so frustrating!"

"I know," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "We still have time, Booth. Don't give up yet."

He nodded but she could tell he was feeling awful. And worse, she didn't know how she could fix it. Or if it were possible to fix.


	14. Missing Toxins and Trying to be Strong

**Disclaimer: "Bones" is the property of Fox Broadcasting and Hart Hanson.**

"Agent Booth?" there was the scrape of a chair as Sweets sat down. "How are you feeling?"

Booth took a deep breath, feeling his body shudder with the effort. He lifted his head and schooled his face to hide any of the lingering pain he still felt. "Great, Sweets. The medicine's doing its job."

"Are you certain, Booth?" Bones was still next to him. Her blue eyes were rimmed with red, which bothered him more than the fact that his stomach seemed to be inhabited with Mexican jumping beans and the rest of his body felt as if it had gone a few rounds with a brick wall.

He'd let himself slip for a moment, and it had frightened her. That's not what she needed. Bones had seen and experienced enough pain in her life, she didn't need him to give her something else to worry about.

He protected her. That meant he had to be strong, no matter how much he wanted to bury his head in his arms and close his eyes. Booth knew all about hiding pain – he'd had plenty of practice as a POW.

He flashed her a grin. "Hey, you know me, Bones, get me some pudding or pie and I'll be fine."

Sweets leaned forward slightly. "Agent Booth, are you certain that you aren't attempting to conceal your true condition out of a desire not to appear vulnerable…?"

Booth glared at the younger man. "Sweets, I may be poisoned, but I can still shoot you. And if you try to psychoanalyze me now I just might."

He was pleased to see Sweets lean back in his chair, looking a little intimidated. A chuckle from his right told him Bones appreciated the sentiment. Good. Maybe they'd quit looking at him like he was dying.

_Even if you are dying_. The Professor's voice reminded him.

Booth was saved from that particular train of thought as the door to the interrogation room opened and Adams ushered in Dr. Carl Peterson. Sweets got up and gave the doctor his chair, moving to a corner of the room and leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

Peterson looked a lot less arrogant than he had when he'd first entered the room. Booth wanted to believe that was a good thing, but something told him that whatever he was about to hear, it wasn't good news for the situation.

"Carl?" Bones broke the silence. "What's going on? Do you know anything about this?"

Peterson sighed. "Unfortunately, Temperance, I just might." The biochemist scrubbed his face with a large hand. "Agent Booth, I've been in touch with the director of Homeland Security. After consulting with your Deputy Director, we've determined that it is in all our interests to share information."

Peterson frowned as he glanced at Sweets and Adams. "However, this information is highly classified. The fewer people who know about it, the better."

"Dr. Sweets is helping us profile the killer who has been using this toxin," Booth said. He saw the kid shoot him a grateful look, and it was true, Sweets _was_ part of this. But Booth would've said something anyway just to annoy this guy.

"Of course," Peterson said with an annoyed _hmph_. "But this other man…?"

Booth signaled to Adams that he could go. After the other agent left the room, Booth leaned forward, willing back the headache the medicine hadn't gotten around to erasing yet. "Now, Dr. Peterson, if you don't mind explaining yourself?"

Peterson licked his lips. "You were correct, Agent Booth, in that I've been developing a toxin for possible use in assassinations. It's designed to be injected without the subject's being aware of it, its effects only manifesting hours later."

"And you're asking me to believe that this is something new?" Booth said with a cocked eyebrow.

"The use of poisons is certainly not new," Brennan said. "Many civilizations have employed them over time."

"Yes, of course," Peterson said with a dismissive wave. "But my aim is to create something that imitates something benign at first – the flu, for example. By the time it becomes fatal the assassin is long gone. When I've perfected it there will be no way to distinguish it from a natural death."

"I've got news for you, Doc," Booth said, rubbing his neck where he'd been injected, "You don't have it perfect yet."

"I _know_ that, Agent Booth," Peterson huffed. "As I said, I have been developing it. I had several versions of it I was refining. That is, until they were stolen."

"Stolen?" Booth and Brennan asked together. Sweets straightened up from the corner.

"Yes," Peterson sighed. "Unfortunately, all my samples were stolen. My laptop with my formulas, my research – it's gone. Papers are missing or destroyed."

"Why hasn't the FBI been brought in to investigate this?" Booth asked.

"Because we were trying to keep this quiet," Peterson said. "The panic it would cause if the public knew something like this had happened? Of course we had to prevent that!"

"But Carl, you have no idea who might have the toxin!" Bones said. "Of course people should be warned."

"Temperance, people aren't as rational as you are," Carl said with a shake of his head. "And we have an excellent idea of who the thief is – my lab assistant, Leslie Roker. She had access and opportunity."

"Has Ms. Roker been apprehended?" Booth asked.

Peterson's shoulders drooped. "Unfortunately, no. She has, in fact, disappeared."

"My team at the Jeffersonian could examine the evidence you have and possibly turn up something you've missed," Bones said, her phone already in her hand.

"Temperance," Peterson's tone was condescending. "I'm sure your people are good, but –"

"Her people are the best," Booth said quietly. "Look Doctor, we've already had three deaths from this toxin of yours – I think we should pull out all the stops before there are any others, don't you?"

Peterson stared at Booth, and the agent became uncomfortable, suddenly remembering that the next death could be his. "How long ago were you injected, Agent Booth?"

Booth shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned. Bones answered in a quiet voice. "More than 15 hours ago, Carl. He was injected at 11:36 last night."

"And I notice he's symptomatic," Peterson said, studying Booth intently. "Hm, I'd like to examine you, Agent Booth – it would be helpful to see how the toxin is affecting you…"

Booth suddenly felt as if he were a bug on a slide and Peterson was peeking at him through a microscope. It was a very uncomfortable feeling. Mentally bracing himself, he decided to bring up the question he was afraid to ask. "Look, if you don't mind, I'd rather not be a part of your study. If you have an antitoxin for this invention of yours, maybe I could take it and we could work on catching this guy?"

Peterson's face went blank. Booth felt his stomach drop_. No answer. Uh-oh_.

"There _is_ an antitoxin, isn't there, Carl?" Bones asked. Booth saw she was leaning forward, frowning, her hands flat on the table as if she meant to pounce on her former teacher.,

Peterson fidgeted. "Of course, I was working on developing one…the government insisted on it, as a precaution. I even had a mixture I was preparing to test, but…"

"Let me guess," Booth said heavily. "It's missing, too."

Peterson's head jerked as he nodded.

Sweets shook his head. "But if you created it, surely you can recreate it?"

"Weren't you listening?" Peterson said. "All my notes and records are gone! I cannot make something out of nothing, young man."

"Surely there were backups –" Bones said.

"All destroyed. Onsite and off. Leslie was very thorough," Peterson said, a hint of anger showing. "I can't understand why she'd destroy my work – she knew how important it was to me!"

Booth felt the sweat pop out on his face. He rubbed at it with his hand as he swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. "So, you're saying that the only way to cure this thing is to find your assistant?"

The doctor nodded. "If the cure even works. I believe it will, but it was only in the experimental stage…"

"Carl," Bones' sounded urgent. "You need to work with my people. We have to get the answers here. Maybe they can help you recreate the cure."

"Temperance," Peterson shook his head, his voice taking on a superior air. "No offense, dear, but your people cannot possibly have anything to contribute to this. I've worked very hard to develop this, and it is _my_ project."

Booth saw his partner's face harden. He considered ducking under the table because he knew that look. Sweets saw it too, and took a step back.

"Carl," she said as she stood, leaning over the table much like Booth had earlier, "I don't care about your 'project.' I'm not suggesting my team help so we can have any credit for your work. But you _will_ help us find this killer and you will help us find the antitoxin."

Peterson looked shocked. "Or what? Temperance, you aren't threatening me, are you?"

"You seem to be ignoring the fact that your toxin is being used for murder," Booth said. If Bones wanted to play hardball with this guy, he'd back her all the way. "If that was leaked to the public, how do you think those who fund you would react? The government doesn't like bad press."

"You wouldn't," Peterson said. "I told you this was a matter of national security!"

"And now it's also a matter of innocent lives," Booth answered. "Besides, what do I have to lose at this point?"

The doctor looked at Bones. "Temperance, don't let him do this!"

She glared at him. "Will you help us? Or shall I arrange a press conference for myself and Agent Booth?"

Peterson matched her expression. Booth watched the war between the stares. It was the most entertaining thing he'd witnessed in the past 15 hours. He saw Sweets' fingers twitch as if the kid could hardly wait to get a pen and notepad to write all his observations down.

Finally, the doctor broke. "Fine. Since I assured you that I would fully cooperate, I will of course place myself at the disposal of your team." He stood. "I will go to my lab and pick up some things, and then do I return here?"

"No," Bones said, straightening up. "Agent Booth will have an agent escort you to your lab and then to the Jeffersonian." She picked up her phone again. "Also, I need all the records you have about your assistant and whatever investigation has been conducted into the theft of the toxin. My team may be able to come up with some answers."

"Of course. Anything you want, Tempe," Peterson said sarcastically. Turning to Booth, he added. "I will need your medical records, Agent Booth. And I must insist on examining you myself. That might help me to do this impossible thing you're asking of me."

"Fine," Booth said, "Knock yourself out." Turning to the psychologies, he said, "Sweets, take Dr. Peterson to Adams and ask him to conduct the good doctor to his lab and then to the Jeffersonian."

"Um," Sweets hesitated. "Agent Booth, I'd like a word with you and Dr. Brennan?"

"After you get the doctor to Adams," Booth said. Bones was on the phone, one hand over her free ear as she relayed instructions to the squints.

While waiting for Sweets to return and Bones to get off the phone Booth took a moment to gather himself. He kept his face turned away form his partner lest his expression betray his inner struggle.

The medicine was helping – but it wasn't entirely effective. His muscles still ached, and the headache that had threatened to grow into a migraine still throbbed enough that he was aware of it.

Worse, Peterson's words had alarmed him. There was a cure…maybe. Booth's only hope lay in an untested concoction that could be anywhere at the moment. Or even destroyed. This, more than the physical effects, threatened to pull him into a blackness where all he'd be able to do would be to lay down and wait for death.

He heard the door open and violently shoved the darkness away. He had to be strong for the team. For _Bones_. That was what he did. He couldn't let them down by being weak now.

"So," Booth said, leaning back in his chair, "Dr. Peterson all good to go?"

Bones meanwhile hung up her phone and came to stand next to Booth's chair. She glanced at her partner and he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Yes," Sweets said. "However, Dr. Peterson fits the psychological profile of The Professor. I know you believe it's not him, Agent Booth, but you were drugged at the time and could be mistaken."

"I know, Sweets," Booth said.

The psychologist continued. "You tend to trust your gut, but in this case – wait, did you just agree with me?"

"Yup."

"Booth," Bones shot him a worried look. "If you think that, why didn't you argue about his helping us?"

"There's an old saying, Bones," Booth said, lacing his hands behind his head. "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."

He watched as she processed the statement. "Oh. So you believe this way, we can keep an eye on him in case he tries anything."

"You've got it," Booth nodded.

"I accept your reasoning," she said.

Sweets sighed. "I do too, but I don't have to like it."

"Hey, it'll be fine," Booth said, standing. The room tilted for a sickening second, and he steadied himself on the table.

Bones grabbed his arm. "Booth? Are you all right?"

He forced the nausea back. Focusing on Bones' blue eyes, he said in a voice he was glad didn't shake, "Yeah, just got up too fast. I'm okay, Bones."

_Be strong for her. That's what you do_.


	15. Max the Morale Officer

**A/N: Okay, looks like the thunderstorms are done and my Internet connection is behaving at the moment so here's the next chapter!**

_Approximately 21 hours after the injection…_

Max Keenan wiped down the table in the break room, his mind racing. He was worried. About his daughter, who was well on her way to working herself into a state of physical and emotional exhaustion; about her partner, who was clearly suffering tremendously, despite his efforts to hide his pain; and the rest of the team, who was clearly becoming dispirited.

Earlier, when Max had stepped into the men's room, he heard Patrick Gates' voice in one of the stalls, clearly distressed. "I'm not sure how long I can handle this."

Not sure who the man was speaking to in the men's room, Max let the door slam. After taking care of his business, he went to the sinks, where the younger man was focused on washing his hands.

Keeping his own eyes down, Max said, "You holding up, Mr. Gates?"

"I – I'm trying, sir," Gates said in a low voice. He paused as he rinsed his hands. "I was talking to my mom there. She's worried about me. You know?"

"Yeah, I know," Max said with a sigh. He glanced at Gates, noting the deep shadows under the young man's eyes. "When was the last time you got any sleep, son?"

Gates cupped some water in his hands and splashed his face. "I got a short nap in when Hodgins and I got back from Ms. Roker's apartment."

Max nodded and filed that information away. He decided at that point that one of the things he _could_ do for Booth and the team was try to keep morale up.

With that in mind, Max offered to pick up dinner for everyone and made a point to say something encouraging to each one of them. Except that snotty doctor Tempe used to go out with, who Max decided he couldn't stand after knowing him for about 15 minutes. If Tempe hadn't emphasized that Peterson might actually be useful, Max would have suggested to Booth that shooting the man could be a public service.

_Booth_. Max rinsed out the cloth he'd used to clean the table as he thought about the agent. He hadn't been lying when he told Booth that he was a good man. In his life, Max had run into all kinds of people in law enforcement. Some, like Kirby, were scum that didn't deserve to breathe.

Booth wasn't like that. Max had seen the man do all kinds of things for the sake of his daughter. When Max had left after killing Kirby, he'd told the agent to take care of his daughter. He hadn't realized then how much of that he'd already been doing.

To see a good strong man like Booth being attacked from the inside made Max's heart hurt. He'd watched as Booth had spent most of dinner simply pushing his food around his plate, eating very little. He noticed the way the younger man's face would twist in pain when he thought no one was looking.

And Booth's pain was Temperance's. Max wasn't sure why the two of them weren't together – maybe Temperance had issues, thanks to him and Christine – but he knew she was worried and frightened for her partner. More than she was willing to admit, he guessed.

With a sigh, Max looked at his watch. It was approaching 9 pm, and everyone was still here. Even though they were all younger than he was, he couldn't believe they weren't about to drop from exhaustion. He decided to talk to Dr. Saroyan about it.

On the way there he saw Angela sitting at a computer, wiping her eyes. He decided to detour in her direction and put an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, you okay?"

She sniffled. "I'm sorry. I've been trying to stay calm, not break down…I know I need to be concentrating on finding something new, but…"

"Hey, it's all right," Max said, pulling the artist into a hug. "I wish Tempe would let some of her emotions out, sometimes. Sometimes you have to, or you'll explode."

Angela sobbed, "I just wish there was something I could do! This is like when Hodgins and Brennan were captured by the Gravedigger and I couldn't figure out anything to find them!"

"Gravedigger?" Max asked. "Who's that?"

"Bren never told you?" Angela asked, raising her tear-streaked face up to Max.

"I think there's a lot she hasn't told me," Max said, trying to keep the sadness he felt out of his voice.

Angela wiped her face. "The Gravedigger's a person who'd kidnap people and bury them alive. Then he'd ask for a ransom in exchange for their location."

"Sounds like a nice guy," Max grunted.

"Well, he kidnapped Bren and Hodgins and gave us 12 hours to come up with the ransom or they'd run out of air," Angela continued. She sat back down in her chair. "We couldn't come up with the ransom and we were trying to figure out how to find them. They'd sent us a message, but we couldn't figure out what it meant."

"But you did find them, obviously," Max said.

Angela rested her head in her hand. "You know what I really remember from that? We hit the twelve hour mark – when they would run out of air. Booth got mad at Zack when he pointed that out. Booth – he told us we shouldn't give up just because of the numbers. That Bren and Hodgins could've found a way to extend their air supply."

"He didn't let you give up," Max said, his respect for the agent growing.

"No," Angela agreed. "He kept us focused. And we found them."

"Sounds like a good thing to do," Max said. He put a hand on the artist's shoulder. "I'm gonna talk to Cam – I think you guys could use some downtime."

"We don't have time," Angela protested.

"I know it feels like that," Max said. "But there's such a thing as diminishing returns. You guys wear yourselves out, you'll miss things – important things."

Angela shook her head. "Bren won't do it."

"Well then maybe I should talk to her first," Max smiled. He looked around. "She in her office, you think?"

"Yeah," Angela said, pushing herself to a standing position. "I'm going to go wash my face – maybe it'll wake me up a little."

Max nodded and headed for his daughter's office. The sound of raised voices caused him to quicken his pace. He heard Dr. Peterson say something about "you need to have some perspective on this" and wished again Booth would shoot him.

He walked into the office and took in the scene. Booth was laying on the couch, a hand pressed to his arm, tired eyes glaring at Peterson, who held a vial of blood and a clipboard. Tempe was standing at the end of the couch, her hands on her hips.

"Carl, he isn't one of your lab subjects, he's a victim!"

"There's no reason he can't be both!" Peterson responded. "Agent Booth, I realize it's difficult to be less than self-centered under the circumstances but surely you must realize how allowing me to continue a real-time study of you and your condition would benefit my research…"

"You're supposed to be helping us find your thief – and the antitoxin," Booth said. Max noticed there was a slight tremor to the words, and that Booth was paler than he'd been earlier that evening.

"Yes, of course," Peterson said with a frown. "But at the same time, given the circumstances, continuing my research isn't without merit. Even if we can't save you, the knowledge we gain here could help me reconstruct what I've lost…"

Max saw Temperance wince at the phrase "even if we can't save you" and decided enough was enough. "Doctor, maybe you should take your blood sample and put it somewhere safe."

Peterson didn't even glance at Max. "I have some more questions for Agent Booth –"

"Those can wait," Max said, getting a firm grip on the other man's upper arm and propelling him out of the office. By the time Peterson recovered from the shock Max had him halfway to Cam's office.

"Let go of me!" the doctor sputtered, trying to pull away from Max. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Saving your life," Max said. "You keep up how you're behaving and there'll be people here lining up to take you out." He got to Cam's office and opened her door without knocking, shoving the doctor in ahead of him.

Cam's head jerked up and Max realized she'd been dozing. "Max, Dr. Peterson, is everything all right?"

Peterson finally got his arm back from Max. "No, it isn't. I was gathering some information from Agent Booth when this man assaulted me and dragged me in here!"

"He was harassing Booth," Max said. "No offense, Dr. Saroyan, but this guy seems more interested in seeing what he can get out of Booth than in providing any real help."

Max saw the doctor gather herself. "Dr. Peterson. I know you're very focused on your research but if you could possibly stay on task for now, it would probably make things easier."

"I am on task," Peterson huffed. "Your team appears to be rather ineffective in their work, Dr. Saroyan, especially if they have nothing better to do than insult and abuse me."

Cam's eyebrows went up. "My team is very effective – and permit me to remind you that Agent Booth is a part of that team. If your research interferes with our work here, then I'm afraid the one who is not being effective is you."

Peterson's face got red. "I assure you I'm doing the best I can under these circumstances."

"As is my team. So I suggest you stop insulting them and work with them."

Brennan appeared in the doorway. She shot an angry glance at Peterson and turned to Saroyan. "Cam, can I speak to you please?"

"Of course," Saroyan said. "We're done here, right Dr. Peterson?"

"For now," Peterson huffed. He stalked out of the office, not glancing at Tempe as he left.

Max shook his head. "Baby, I can't see what you saw in that guy."

"Dad, not now," Temperance said. "Cam, I think I need to take Booth home. He can't rest here, and he really needs to."

"Actually, I think a lot of people need to go home and get some rest," Max offered.

Cam shook her head. "Max, I understand what you're saying, but there's no way I can make these people leave. I'm not leaving."

"Dropping from exhaustion isn't going to solve this and help Booth," Max argued.

"I know," Cam rubbed her eyes. "I'll try to get people to nap, but that's the best I can do."

"At least make Tempe stay with Booth," Max said.

"Dad, I should come back here after I take Booth home,": Temperance protested.

"Actually, staying with Booth is a good idea," Cam said. "You know how he is, Dr. Brennan – he needs someone to make sure he'll rest and take care of himself. You're probably the only one he'll listen to on that one."

Max saw his daughter looked torn. "But Cam, you need me to help with the case."

"Dr. Saroyan, just a minute," Max said. He took his daughter by the arm and led her just outside the door. "Honey, listen to me. Booth needs you to be with him right now. He needs someone who can be there for him."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean that Booth's trying very hard to put up a strong brave front for everyone. That's hard work and he's tired. He needs someone he can lean on right now, someone he can be weak in front of."

"That sounds like something a heart person does," she said. "Dad, I'm not a heart person. I can't do things like that. I don't know how."

Max smiled at his daughter. "You'll know. When you need to, you'll know. You always were a fast learner, Tempe." He grew serious. "I know you'd rather be here at the lab, but think of what's best for Booth right now. Is it better for him that you're here or with him?"

He watched as his daughter digested his words. "I suppose with him. Cam and the others can call me if there's anything else, I suppose."

"That's my girl," Max said, giving her a hug. "Now go tell Dr. Saroyan and go take care of that partner of yours."

She nodded. Then she surprised him by kissing him on the cheek. "I'm sorry for being so difficult before. I do appreciate all you're doing right now."

She went back into Dr. Saroyan's office before he could respond. Max touched the cheek his daughter had kissed and smiled. The kiss and thanks had meant more to him than just about anything.

For his daughter, he'd do anything. And if he found out who this killer was, he or she better pray the police got to them before Max did. It wouldn't be the first time he killed for those he cared about.

* * *

**A/N2: I love Max. Can you tell? ;-)**


	16. A Partners Thing

**A/N: When this story first started taking shape in my mind, this chapter was there. I hope it is as good as I think it is.**

**Disclaimer: "Bones" is owned by Hart Hanson and Fox Broadcasting.**

_Approximately 27 hours after the injection…_

_Carl held up the syringe with the antitoxin in it, a look of disgust on his face. "You are such a disappointment to me, Tempe. You never did figure out what you needed to do. Now it's almost too late."_

_He pointed to the stage and Brennan realized she was in The Checkerbox. Booth lay where he'd fallen when Pam Nunan shot him. Blood soaked his chest and he groaned in agony. "Bones…please, help me…"_

_A large LED clock hung over the stage. In huge red letters, it read: _11:35:45. _Patrick Gates, who stood with the rest of the team at the bar, pointed to it eagerly. "Get ready for the countdown!"_

_"Carl, please, give that to me!" she said, turning to her former teacher and mentor. She tried to rush to him to wrench the syringe out of his hand, but her feet wouldn't move._

_"You know what you need to do, Tempe," Carl said with an evil smile._

_"Let's do it!" Gates shouted, and then everyone was chanting. "!0…9…"_

_"What?" she screamed. "Carl, what do I need to do?"_

_"8…7…"_

_"Beg me for it, Tempe. Get on your knees and beg."_

_"6…5…"_

_She flung herself to her knees. "Please, Carl!" tears slid down her face. "Please, Carl, give me that syringe!"_

_"4…3…"_

_"Good girl, Tempe," Peterson said with a grin. "Come and get it now…"_

_"2…1…"_

_Just as her hand closed on the antitoxin, a horrid buzzing sounded from the clock. A groan issued from the group at the bar, and Carl shook his head. "Too late, I'm afraid."_

_"No!" She turned and ran to her partner. But he was still. His brown eyes stared at nothing, his skin was paler than hers. Frantically she searched for a pulse. There wasn't one._

_"Booth!" she wept, gathering his body in her arms. "Booth, don't die, please…"_

The sensations changed. Instead of her hands closing on his jacket, she felt a soft comforter. And instead of being on her knees, she was laying down.

Brennan blinked a few times, trying to make sense of things. She was no longer in the Checkerbox. Carl and the others had vanished. Instead, she lay in a dark room the only light coming from a nightlight that looked like a yellow sponge with a face on it.

She remembered. She was at Booth's place, in Parker's room. She'd decided to lay down for a few minutes after getting an update from Hodgins.

She frowned as she turned on the bedside clock and looked at her watch. _2:40 AM_. Her few minutes had turned into a little over 3 hours. She must have been tired.

Brennan hoped she hadn't waked her partner up. She'd made Booth take his medicine before they left the Jeffersonian, but even so he was still shaking and feverish when they got to his place. He'd offered to take Parker's room and let her have his bed, but she'd argued that he needed the better bed due to his condition. He uncharacteristically didn't argue with her, a sure sign he wasn't feeling well.

She stretched, wondering if Booth had any tea she could brew. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand, toying with the thought of calling the Jeffersonian for an update. And she really should check on Booth.

Brennan stepped into the hallway and heard a rustle of paper in the front part of Booth's apartment. A light shone from the living room. Curious, she went to investigate.

Booth was sitting on the couch, bent over some papers. A gray metal lockbox sat on the floor next to the coffee table. He was barefoot, wearing some ragged denim shorts and a light gray t-shirt.

He hadn't heard her, so she took a brief moment to study him. She noticed the tightness along his jaw line, how his posture was uncharacteristically slumped, as if he were collapsing into himself. He reached for a glass of water with a shaking hand, and a low groan escaped his lips.

She moved quickly. "Booth?" she asked as she steadied the glass for him, "What are you doing up?"

His eyes widened at the sight of her, and he almost choked on the water he'd drank. "Bones. I – I couldn't sleep. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. But Booth, you really should be resting," she said as she returned the glass to the table. Her eyes fell on the papers Booth had been working on, and she froze.

Several envelopes were to one side of the table – she saw Jared's name on the top one. A piece of paper in front of her partner was blank except for the top, which read _Dear Bones,_

But it was the document beneath that unfinished letter that broke her heart. In large letters across the top of it, it said "_The Last Will and Testament of Seeley Josiah Booth_."

"Booth," she breathed. "What are you doing?"

He sat back and offered her a weak smile. "Well, you know the old Boy Scout motto, Bones. I'm just making sure I've got things in order…you know, just in case."

She felt her own shoulders sag. "I knew it. I knew I should still be in the lab instead of here!"

"What?" Booth looked confused. He straightened up and a look of pain crossed his face before he could hide it.

She waved her hand over the table. "You think we aren't working hard enough, that we're going to let you down!"

"Bones!" he grabbed her hand. "No, that's not it! I know –" he swallowed and continued. "I know you and the squints are doing all you can. More than all."

Suddenly he turned his head so she couldn't see his face. Troubled, she moved around the table to sit next to him. "Booth? What is it?"

He refused to look at her. "I…it's just…"

She wished he'd look at her. She tried to touch his chin to bring his face around but he moved out of her reach. "Please tell me. I'm worried about you."

"I'm sorry," he said, a catch in his voice.

"About what?"

"That you have to worry about me," he said softly.

She was stunned. "Booth, why shouldn't I be concerned?"

He shook his head, his voice full of misery. "I'm supposed to be strong. The protector. I'm – I'm not supposed to let anything stop me. But – but this poison – I can't do anything about it!"

"Booth," she put a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension that made it practically vibrate under her fingers, "It's not over. We still have time –"

"But we don't even know if there is an antidote!" Booth said, a fist coming down on his leg. "And – and you don't understand…"

"Then explain it to me!" she said. Frustration was making her short-tempered_. I can't do this, I'm bad with people! I know I am!_

"It…" he swallowed and tried again. "I know it's in me…I feel it, feel it just doing whatever it wants to me…and I can't do anything about it! I can't arrest it or shoot it or beat it up…I'm just totally helpless." He finally looked at her. "It's killing me Bones…and there's nothing I can do about it."

She had seen him in pain before. She'd even seen him afraid. But in all the years she'd known him she'd never seen Seeley Booth in despair. And that's what was written in those dark brown eyes. Despair. Hopelessness.

_I'm not Booth!_ She screamed inside_. He'd know what to do. I don't!_

_Okay then, baby, _her father's voice answered, _what would Booth do in this situation?_

When she asked herself that, the answer was obvious.

"Booth," she said softly to her partner, her friend, "Do you remember a couple of years ago, when I said I shouldn't keep hugging you when I get scared? Remember what you said?"

He nodded, his expression not quite changing. "I said that when I got scared…" he started coughing and couldn't finish.

She finished the sentence for him. "..that you'd hug me." Then without another word, she held her arms out to him.

The conflict Booth felt was clear in his expression. She saw the longing to take her up on her offer warring with the desire to stay strong – and with a pang she realized he was fighting to stay strong for _her_ sake, wanting to protect her even now when he was in so much pain.

The words she needed to say to help him take that final step were ones he'd often said to her when she was reluctant to accept something from him. "It's a 'partners thing,' Booth."

She saw a flash of relief in his face before it crumpled. With a strangled cry he leaned over, burying his face into her neck. She put her arms around him, pulling him closer.

He clutched her as if he were drowning and she were a life preserver. Choked sobs shook his body as her shoulder and neck quickly became wet with his hot tears. Brennan drew small circles on his back, as he had done for her so many times. Her left hand gently stroked the back of his head and neck, feeling the heat that meant the fever was back, but making no move to get his medicine as she would if she were being logical. Her heart told her he needed this comfort far more than any medicine.

She didn't know how long they sat like that. It was intimate – but to her surprise it didn't make her uncomfortable or nervous. It felt right. As if they were more than friends, more than partners…

Brennan pushed that thought away. This wasn't the time. She needed to help him through this nightmare, without complicating things. There was time to explore that thought – there _would_ be time to explore that thought, she told herself angrily. This wasn't the end. Booth wouldn't die. Not if she had anything to say about it.

Finally, he grew quiet. He was still shaking, but she knew that was the poison and not the emotion. She let him be the one to break the embrace first, letting her hands slide down his arms until she could grasp his hands.

His eyes were red and swollen, but the blackness she'd seen in them was almost gone. "Thanks, Bones," he said, his voice hoarse.

"It's all right," she said, blinking back her own tears. She reached over to brush a stray drop of moisture off his face. "You probably should take some medicine. And then maybe try to get some sleep."

He nodded, his eyes straying to the papers on the table. "Bones…I was going to write this down, but…there's a couple of things I'd like your help with, if that's all right."

"What?" she asked.

He swallowed, his hands reaching over to gather the envelopes. "I have letters here…for you, Parker, and…and others. If – if I don't make it, would you make sure people get these?"

"Does Rebecca know?" Brennan asked. She hadn't seen Booth call anyone, but that didn't mean he hadn't.

He shook his head. "No. And please, don't let Becca or Jared know about this…until it's over."

"Booth," she protested. "They'd want to know."

"Please," he said. "They can't do anything about it, and I don't need more people fussing over me." He shot her a quick grin after saying that. Then he sobered. "And I don't want Parker's last living memory of me to be with me like this. Please, Bones."

She sighed. "All right." She was glad he didn't ask her to promise, because she wasn't sure he was right on this one. But she'd think about it.

"And…" his hand went to his neck, and he pulled out his St. Christopher's medal. "Do you mind, if on the way to the lab tomorrow, we go by my church? I – I want to make one last confession. And see if my priest can administer the Anointing of the Sick."

She frowned. "Booth, are you relying on a priest to cure you?"

He sighed. "It is done for that reason," he admitted. "But mostly I want it…it helps prepare you for death." He bit his lip. "I know you don't get it, Bones, but I do, and it'll help me…help me deal with this. You don't have to come in if you don't want, but please take me there."

She tilted her head. Brennan never understood how Booth could believe in God or the things he apparently took from the Catholic Church. But she could see this was important to him. "Do you want me with you?" she asked softly.

He nodded. A fit of coughing prevented him from saying anything else.

She waited till he got control of himself and said, "If I do this, will you do something for me?"

"Sure Bones."

Brennan took her partners' hands again. "Promise me you won't give up. No matter how close we get to the deadline, you won't stop trying to live. Promise me."

He looked into her eyes. She tightened her grip on his hands. If he gave up, she didn't know what she would do.

Booth smiled. It was a tired, pain-filled smile, but it was like sunshine to her. "Okay. Deal. I won't give up any more."

She smiled back at him. "All right. Now I'll get your medicine and then see if you can get some rest. I'm assuming falling asleep during this anointing isn't a good idea?"

He groaned as she got up and headed to the bathroom. "Bones, please, don't say things like that tomorrow!"

She grinned at that. The grin faded as she looked in the mirror in Booth's bathroom.

There was a large damp spot on her shoulder where he'd wept. She felt herself shaking, realizing how bad things were for him to let go, even with her.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she said out loud, "You won't let him down. You're smarter than this Professor. And you'll save Booth."

She almost believed it.


	17. Another Note

**A/N: I hope tonight's episode was good...I messed up recording it! (I have Bible Study on Wednesday nights, which trumps all TV, even Bones!)**

**Something I forgot to mention last chapter - I am not Catholic, and my knowledge of the ceremony the Anointing of the Sick came from some research on Wikipedia. I kept it sketchy, but if I got it wrong, I'm sorry.**

**Disclaimer: Bones is owned by Fox Broadcasting and Hart Hanson. No copyright infringement intended.**

_Approximately 35 hours after the injection…_

Brennan pulled into her parking spot at the Jeffersonian. Before turning off the car she turned to study her partner.

Booth sat with the seat reclined, his eyes closed. His hands quivered in his lap as if he had palsy. Lines of pain marked his face.

She looked at his forehead, where the oil the priest had used still glistened. Brennan thought she'd behaved quite well under the circumstances. She'd only got Booth upset when he refused to let her hear his confession.

"Booth, what sins could you have possibly committed you wouldn't want me to know about?" she'd asked when he asked her to wait outside the booth.

He'd given her a weary glare and said, "Look, humor me, okay?"

She'd shrugged and obediently sat down in a pew while Booth entered the small confessional. She had to admit she found the ceremony anthropologically revealing, giving her insight about Booth and how his beliefs affected him.

Now she looked at him as she tried to make a decision. The medicine was becoming less and less effective in counteracting the toxin. The trip to the church had tired him out. And they were close to the 36 hour mark, where the Professor had predicted that Booth could become completely incapacitated.

"Booth?" she asked, placing a hand over one of his.

"Yeah Bones?" his voice was tired, but alert.

She bit her lip as she tried to select the best way to voice her concern. "How are you feeling?"

He turned his head as he opened his eyes. He managed to generate a charm smile for her, though it was tired and full of pain. "I can handle it a little while longer, Bones."

"Are you sure?" she asked, bracing herself for an angry response. She hated to push but she knew he was suffering.

Booth started to answer, then was seized by a coughing fit. He bent over, gasping for breath while Brennan held him. She waited until he was back under control and then buckled her seatbelt again. "I'm taking you to the hospital –"

He put a hand on the steering wheel. "Bones, I'm – I'm okay. Just let me try to function a little while longer. Please?"

Brennan shut her eyes. She wanted to get Booth to the hospital. But she understood what he wanted. It would be the decision she'd make for herself – how could she argue with Booth for doing the same thing?

"All right," she said. "Let's go see what the team has."

Booth nodded and eased himself out of the car. Brennan came to stand next to him. She forced herself not to offer him her arm, knowing he needed to do as much for himself as he could. So she slowed her own pace as he painfully walked into the lab.

Cam saw them first. "Hey you two. How're you holding up, Seeley?"

"Well, it's about time you showed up Dr. Brennan!" Peterson said, coming up behind Cam. "I've been here since nine AM. Working hard, I might add, without the benefit of Agent Booth to examine."

"Dr. Peterson," Cam said, her tone making it clear she was losing patience with the biochemist, "I told you that Dr. Brennan phoned and explained that she and Agent Booth had some errands to run before coming here. I approved the errands, so you have nothing to complain about."

"I have a great deal to complain about, Dr. Saroyan! Now, I'd like to examine Agent Booth if that's all right with everyone."

"After I talk with them, Dr. Peterson," Cam said. "Could you both come into my office for a moment?"

"Dr. Saroyan! I must insist on making an examination!" Peterson's face was getting red.

Cam's eyes narrowed. She got in Peterson's face. "With all due respect, Doctor – put a sock in it." She looked over at Booth and Brennan and jerked her head towards her office.

Booth sighed as he walked towards Cam's office. Brennan followed him, but couldn't help but notice Carl staring at her partner's back, his dark eyes intense.

Once the partners were seated in Cam's office, Booth spoke through clenched teeth. "I don't know why you asked us to come in here, but thanks for getting me away from Dr. Creepy."

Cam didn't smile. "Back to how are you doing, Seeley? I have to say, you've looked better."

"I'm not so far gone that I want you to call me Seeley," Booth shot back.

Brennan chuckled. A faint smile came and went on Cam's face. "Look, guys, I know you want to get to the platform and review the evidence, but I thought you should see this evidence first."

She held up an envelope which was addressed to Brennan.

"Another note from The Professor?" Brennan asked, feeling sick. "Where did it come from?"

"Gates found it outside, held down by a rock near the back door," Cam said. Looking at Booth, she held up a hand. "And yes, I have Angela going over the security videotapes, Hodgins went over it for oils and particulates, Gates and Max are reviewing the evidence from Ms. Roker's apartment, and there will still be plenty for you to do assuming you can stay upright."

Booth chuckled. It turned into another coughing fit, and by the time it was over, Booth was holding his chest and grimacing. Cam shook her head, her stethoscope on Booth's back. "Booth, scale of 1 through 10, how's the pain? Be honest."

"I hate that scale," Booth gasped.

"Yeah, I know, but answer the question anyway," Cam said. "Your lungs are clear, for what that's worth."

"Good news," Booth sighed. "Okay, pain's about a 7 or 8, I guess."

"Booth, it looks like it's at least a 9," Brennan said.

"Hey," Booth said, groaning as he sat back. "my body, my pain, I get to pick the number."

"Yeah, well I'm with Dr. Brennan on this one," Cam said, handing the note to Brennan. "I suppose trying to talk sense in you is a waste of time?"

"Got it in one, Cam," Booth said. He looked over at Brennan. "So, what does The Professor have to say for himself this time?"

Brennan felt herself shaking almost as bad as her partner. She read the note out loud:

_My dear Dr. Brennan,_

_Congratulations on finding Dr. Peterson! My faith in you and your team is restored. I have to admit I thought you'd get to him sooner, but such is life. He is quite the pompous idiot, isn't he? But he does make a fine toxin._

_I'm sure you're seeking out one Leslie Roker. I hope you find her. She will hopefully tell you quite a lot – though not in the sense of actual _telling_, if you get my meaning. _

_Agent Booth has less than 24 hours. How is he doing? I'm sure his symptoms are a cause of concern for you. I watched the others die, did you know that? I'm missing out on witnessing Agent Booth's suffering, but when we meet I'm sure you can describe it for me._

_I sincerely hope you find me before Agent Booth's time is up. Not for his sake – I honestly don't care if he lives or dies – but for mine. I can't wait for you much longer. Please hurry._

_With high regards, I remain,_

_The Professor_


	18. A Possible Lead

**A/N: Wow! Two new episodes in two days! I liked "Cinderella in the Cardboard," finally got to watch it today!**

**Disclaimer: "Bones" is the property of Fox Broadcasting and Hart Hanson. No copyright infringement intended, just some creative exercise.**

_Approximately 37 hours after the injection…_

To Booth's relief, Dr. Peterson finally finished his exhaustive examination. "I must say, Agent Booth, I'm impressed," the doctor said as he scribbled notes on his clipboard. "I would have fully expected you to be in a coma by now, or paralyzed by pain. Your stamina is remarkable."

"Yeah," Booth grunted as he pulled his t-shirt back down. "I'm full of surprises. Maybe I'll just beat your little toxin."

Peterson shook his head with a sigh. "I doubt that, Agent Booth. I designed it to kill its victim in 48 hours at most. You might delay the worst of the symptoms, but without the antitoxin you will die."

Booth felt his heart slam into his chest with Peterson's words. The Professor's voice laughed in his head. _I told you, Agent Booth. You can barely function now! Soon the pain will be unbearable – you'll feel it even when you're unconscious and die in terrible pain!_

He saw Bones standing in the doorway, her father right behind her. They'd both heard what Peterson said. Bones' eyes were wide, and she was shaking. As for Max – well, if looks could kill, Booth would have to arrest his partner's father for murder again.

He forced the pain and weariness back yet another time. For her. He couldn't bear to see her so devastated. "Hey, Doc? You need to work on that bedside manner of yours, it really stinks."

Peterson glared at Booth. "I don't normally deal with live humans, Agent Booth."

"Yeah," Booth chuckled. "No mystery there. You'd be out of business in a month – no live human would want to be anywhere near you."

Peterson scoffed, but Booth saw Bones hide a smile and felt better. Max caught his eye and gave the agent a discreet thumbs up as he followed his daughter into the office. "Well, is the good doctor here done with poking you, Booth?"

The "good doctor" scowled at Max – _no love lost there_, thought Booth – and gave Bones a brusque nod. "I have finished my examination for now. If Agent Booth hasn't gone to the hospital in the next two hours I will want to examine him again."

Bones stood there, her arms crossed. "I'd like to you join us on the platform, we're having a meeting to discuss what we know so far, and your input might be helpful."

"Of course it will be helpful," Peterson scoffed, and he strode out of the office.

Booth lay his head back with a groan as Bones sat beside him. Max stood in front of them, his hands in his pockets. "Sorry about calling Tempe out while Peterson was in here," Max said. "It was just for a minute."

"No problem, Max." _Just a little bit longer, God, just let me function a little bit longer…_

"Did Carl try to do anything to you?" Bones asked, her cool hand on his hot forehead. "Did he give you anything?"

"The only danger from him is that he annoys me to death," Booth said, closing his eyes. "You want to let me know what you guys come up with?"

"Well Booth," Max said, "we thought you'd like to join us."

"Um," Booth tried to stall. He'd promised Bones he'd be honest about his condition but knew that his saying it would upset her greatly. "No offense, Max, but I had to work on walking from Cam's office to here – and I'm not sure how long I can sit up."

He saw Bones' eyes narrow in concern but her voice displayed none of it. "Dad and the other guys set something up for you. I know you want to be part of this – that was the whole point of staying out of the hospital."

"Yeah?" Booth looked from daughter to father, touched.

"Yeah," Max said, holding out a hand. "C'mon, Booth. I may be older than you but I bet I'm strong enough to carry you out there if I have to."

Booth allowed the older man to haul him to his feet. He gasped – he was weaker than he'd thought and would have tumbled to the floor if Max hadn't grabbed him.

"Easy there, Agent," Max said, pulling one of Booth's arms over his shoulder. "You'll be fine, just take it one step at a time."

Bones slipped under his other shoulder, squeezing his hand as she helped support him.

Booth let Max take most of the burden as the three of them shuffled out to the platform. He saw what Bones had meant – someone had hauled a couch from one of the offices or the break room and placed it where he could recline and still see what was going on where the squints worked. A couple of pillows and a colorful afghan (he recognized it from Angela's office) completed the setup.

He felt tears sting his eyes. He breathed a quiet prayer of thanksgiving to God. He knew how black his sins were; he didn't deserve people that cared so much about him in his life.

But he was grateful all the same.

Max eased Booth onto the couch while Bones covered him with the afghan. Hodgins carried over a small table he placed near the agent's head. Angela put a glass with water and a straw in it and gave him a watery smile. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thanks," Booth said, hearing the huskiness in his voice. He made himself smile, hating that Angela felt so bad. "You guys are the best."

"Just don't get used to it," Cam quipped from the platform. "The minute you're back to kicking criminal butt you're getting treated as usual."

Booth chuckled and was pleased to see that his ex-girlfriend's comment had eased some of the tension in the room. Everyone but Max went up to the platform. The older man pulled a chair over to sit near Booth. When Booth raised a questioning eyebrow, Max explained, "I figure it's too crowded up there – you got a good view here."

"Right," Booth said, suppressing a cough. He still felt like crap, but somehow being here and knowing he wasn't alone helped him fight it. "So," he said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice, "what do we have so far?"

"Well we got bupkus on the note as far as particulates are concerned," Hodgins grumbled. "Nothing except the stuff from outside here."

Something about that bothered Booth, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He saw Max frowning too, but decided not to press. "What about the security tapes?"

"The Professor picked his spot well," Angela said with a frown. "There's a 'blind spot' right by where Patrick found the note. I've gone over the tapes backwards and forwards – nobody who shouldn't be there."

"Great," Booth sighed.

"Dr. Peterson has looked over my reports on the other victims," Cam said. "According to him, the toxin is working as he expected it to."

"Yes, including its effects on Agent Booth," Peterson said. "While I can confirm your past findings, I cannot reproduce the toxin – or the antidote."

"Maybe you don't want Booth cured," Max said, his arms folded across his chest. "You seem to be happy enough making him your personal guinea pig."

Peterson threw up his hands. "I can't keep working as long as _that man_ –" he pointed a quivering finger at Max,, "- keeps insulting me and making accusations!"

"Well, I can't blame Mr. Keenan for feeling animosity towards Dr. Peterson, I don't think he fits the profile of The Professor," Sweets said, earning a glare from both men. "Besides, I have to concur with Ms. Montenegro's assessment that The Professor is seriously ill."

Angela nodded. "He's getting worse, too."

"I agree," Sweets said. "This makes him desperate. I believe whatever he has it's terminal."

"Well," Peterson said sarcastically, "since I'm obviously not dying, can we get over your suspicions about me?"

"Could be faking," Max muttered to Booth.

Booth grinned, then grimaced as a wave of pain hit him. "Have we found _anything?_"

Bones looked chagrined. "I haven't had time to do anything with the bones yet."

Gates looked over at Hodgins. "What about the stuff from the apartment?"

"Stuff from the apartment?" Booth asked.

"Yeah, Patrick and I got some particulates from Ms. Roker's apartment," Hodgins said. "I'm running an analysis on it, should be done any minute."

"What could you have possibly found that wasn't found initially?" Peterson huffed.

"We think The Professor came back since Ms. Roker's disappearance.," Gates said. "Maybe cleaning up after himself, I don't know."

A beeping sound came from Hodgins' station. He sat there and studied the readings for a moment. "Hey, I might have something here."

"What?" Bones asked, going to stand behind Hodgins.

"Here," Hodgins said, pointing. "This reading? It's a specific ph for a fertilizer used by plant nurseries.. Here? Cypress mulch."

"What does that mean?" Angela asked. "Do you have any idea how many plant nurseries there are? And cypress mulch isn't exactly uncommon."

"Yeah, but this plant matter…if we can narrow it down, we might be able to locate it…"

"Let me see that," Gates said, leaning over Hodgin's shoulder. "Hey, I've seen this – a new rose, my mom was talking about it. I think I remember the nursery it was in…"

Booth pulled out his phone, grumbling. "Man, I wish I could go there…"

Bones shook her head. "I'll go, Booth. I can take Mr. Gates and Hodgins."

Booth shook his head. "No, I want an agent with you. I'll call Charlie."

"He can meet us there," Bones said, stripping off her gloves. "Come on, guys. Let's go."

Booth shook his head as he dialed Charlie. He should've known better. When Bones made up her mind about something, even he had trouble stopping her.

Another wave of pain, greater than the first, caught him, and he clenched his jaw to hold in the scream that wanted to rip out of his chest. He hoped no one noticed.

He felt a hand grip his shoulder. "She didn't notice, son." Max's voice was kind.

"Hello?" Charlie's voice was in his ear.

Booth opened his eyes. He felt the sweat on his face, and reached up to grab Max's wrist in gratitude and for support. 'Yeah, Charlie, I need you to meet Dr. Brennan at…"


	19. Losing the Battle

**A/N: Okay, you all are so sweet to get me past 100 reviews! Thanks!**

**Now, you know how nice I've been, with all these fast updates? Please remember the niceness and don't hurt me for this chapter. Okay? Please?**

**Disclaimer: Fox and Hart Hanson owns the show. I own a slightly warped sense of humor, among other things...**

_Approximately 40 hours after the injection…_

He was losing his fight with the toxin.

Booth wasn't sure how much time had passed…he'd been losing little bits of time, graying out maybe, but it was impossible to figure how much.

At some point Max suggested they get him back to Bones' office. The older man and Sweets had practically had to carry him – he could barely put one foot in front of the other. Once back on Bones' couch Max had asked for a bowl of water and a washcloth and had stayed with Booth, sponging his face and neck and telling him to yell if he had to.

Booth was grateful for the privacy but still did his best to control himself. There were times that this meant holding a pillow to his face so he could cry out. The pain was constant now, making focused thought an impossibility.

At some point, Dr. Peterson and Cam came in to examine him. Max insisted on staying, gripping Booth's shoulder and listening to every word.

Peterson straightened up and shared a grim look with Cam. "It's progressed," the biochemist said. "Without the anti-toxin, it's only a matter of time now."

Cam looked at Booth and shook her head. "Booth, I'm calling an ambulance to take you to the hospital."

He reached out and grasped her wrist. It wasn't a strong enough grip to stop her if she wanted to pull away, but he just wanted to get her attention. "Not…yet."

He saw concern and frustration on her face. "Seeley, this is no time to be macho!"

"Not…" he stopped as he body was wracked with a coughing fit. When he could speak again he gasped, "Wait…for Bones. I'll go…then."

Cam bit her lip. "Booth, I didn't want to tell you this, but I've heard from Dr. Brennan. They found a body that they're pretty sure is Leslie Roker's. But no antitoxin."

He felt his stomach drop at that, though he wasn't surprised. "Wait…for…Bones. Cam. Please."

It was hard to talk – it was hard to _breathe_, for crying out loud – so he couldn't explain. He didn't want to be gone when Bones came back to the Jeffersonian. It would be too much like leaving her. And he wanted to see her, just in case…in case…

He tried to convey this with his eyes to Cam. He must have succeeded, because she nodded grimly. "All right. But the minute she gets in this office, I'm making the call."

Booth nodded. "Thanks," he whispered. Cam nodded and she and Peterson left the office.

Max wiped Booth's face with the washcloth. "I'm sorry, Booth. I'm sorry I can't do more."

Booth said nothing. He was concentrating on pushing the blackness back a few more minutes. It was getting harder, he was so tired…

"I don't know if I've ever thanked you for what you've done for me, for Temperance," Max continued. "You've been so good to us…thank you, Booth. Thank you for caring."

Booth nodded. He thought he lost a piece of time, because the next thing he knew, he heard _her_ voice. "Booth!"

He opened his eyes, and Bones' face was above his, fear and worry plain. "You should have sent him to the hospital!" she said to someone while her cold hands brushed his hot cheeks.

"He insisted on waiting for you," Cam said. "I'm calling 911 now."

"Bones," he rasped, raising a shaking hand to touch her face.

It was as if his last defenses suddenly crumpled. Pain struck, crushed him, stealing his power of thought and speech, but not keeping him from crying out as his body convulsed.

"Booth!" Bones' arms were around him, holding him together – he had the fuzzy thought that if she hadn't grabbed him he'd have flown apart. "Booth, don't give up! Remember! Don't stop trying!"

He saw tears on her beautiful face, and he wiped one away, relishing the feel of her cool damp skin. He tried to speak, but The Professor's voice roared triumphantly in his head as the fiery darkness sucked him down, down, down. He felt his lips move, hoped he was forming the words right, hoping she understood as her face was blotted out and unforgiving agonizing darkness claimed him.

_I promise_.

**A/N2: Pretty please don't hurt me? **


	20. A Betrayal and a Promise

**A/N: Okay! Extra update before I go to bed! It will help a little, I hope...**

**Disclaimer: "Bones" is owned by Hart Hanson and Fox.**

_Approximately 44 hours after the injection…_

Max Keenan thought of himself as a careful man. It was that care that allowed to survive while on the run, while in prison, and even now.

That care was what held him back from acting too quickly. Even as the minutes ticked away, he waited until he could break away from the team.

That had not been right away – everyone was upset with Booth being taken to the hospital. Angela had driven Tempe there, something Max was grateful for. He would have offered, but he had some work to do first.

He'd been suspicious, but lacked proof. As much as he wanted to take the guy and beat him to a pulp, he knew he'd need more. Being wrong here could be fatal for Booth.

When he had a moment, he ducked into Angela's office and sat down at her computer. He hoped that what he was looking for wouldn't be hard to find – he was nowhere near as good a hacker as the artist was and he needed to find specific information.

When he found what he was looking for, he sat back. "Hmm."

Now he had to wait until he could speak to the individual alone. A plan was forming in his mind, something he thought would jolt the individual enough for him to talk.

Finally he saw his opportunity. His prey went into the men's room. Max followed him and after making sure the man was occupied the former criminal quietly slipped inside.

It took a few minutes for the man to emerge from the stall. By the time he did, Max's temper was simmering. Before the suspect could say anything, Max had him by the upper arm.

"Where are we going?" the man asked, trying to pull away.

"We're going to visit Booth," Max said in a tone that brooked no argument.

#

Dr. Temperance Brennan had never thought of herself as a failure when it came to science. If she had a god, it was the science that guided her and helped her do what she loved.

But as she sat next to Booth's bed, she thought the enormity of her inability to save him would crush her.

Booth lay, pale and unconscious, hooked up to an IV and several machines that recorded his decline. His coma was not peaceful. He trembled, and sometimes would twist in the bed as he groaned. His wrists were restrained to prevent his movements from dislodging anything.

She looked at his flushed face, sweat shining on it, the lines of pain deepening as another wave of agony hit him. His back arched, and a moan ground out from his clenched jaw.

Brennan covered her face with her hands. She should be back at the Jeffersonian, going over Roker's body. She should be searching for clues. But she couldn't make herself leave Booth.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered into her hands. "I'm so sorry I failed you."

"Sweetie, don't say that!"

Brennan looked up. Angela had returned to the room, holding two Styrofoam cups of coffee. Her face was tear-streaked.

"It's true, isn't it?" Brennan said as Angela handed her a cup. "If I had been smarter, I'd have found out who The Professor was. Booth wouldn't be suffering."

"You can't give up, Bren," Angela said. "We still have time."

"But we're out of clues!" she cried. "I don't know what to do, Angela."

"You're doing it, hon. You're being here for him. That's what's important."

"It's useless. I should be back at the lab…" she looked out the window, where fog was bringing darkness earlier than normal. "But I'd be useless there too, I suppose."

"Sweetie, you're not useless," Angela said, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks as she embraced her friend. "You're being Booth's friend. You know he wouldn't want to be alone right now."

Brennan buried her face in her best friend's (her best _female_ friend's) shoulder, feeling lost. She didn't know what to do…

"Tempe?"

She looked up, surprised to see her father standing there. Next to him, a very nervous looking Patrick Gates shifted from one foot to the other, his eyes darting around the room.

"Dad!" she threw herself at her father, knowing it wasn't like her, but needing the comfort. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt one of his hands stroking her back.

"How is he?" Max asked in a low voice.

Two tears escaped her eyes. "He's dying," she whispered.

Her father gently pulled away. "Excuse me, Tempe." He walked over to the bed, pulling Gates along with him. Brennan noticed for the first time that her father had a firm grip on her assistant and had been holding him since he entered the room.

Max stood silently by the bed for a moment, and Brennan saw a look of grief flicker across her father's rugged face. Quietly he said, "Temperance, make sure the door is shut."

She glanced over. "It is, Dad. You must have shut it when you came in…"

He nodded. Then he looked at at Gates, who seemed fascinated by the fog that pressed against the window. "Look at him," he told the blond man.

Gates said nothing. Brennan saw a muscle jumping in the young man's jaw.

"I said _look at him_!"

To Brennan and Angela's shock, Max grabbed Gates by his ponytail and his jaw and forced the man to look down. Gates went pale; sweat popped out on his forehead.

Brennan took a step forward, thinking she should put a stop to this. "Dad –"

"Not now, Temperance!" her father barked. Stunned, she froze, a hand hanging out into the air.

Gates was struggling; a tear mixed with the sweat on his face. "Please –"

"What's the matter? Can't look at him? Can't look at the man you're helping to murder?" Max was relentless. "C'mon, kid, aren't you proud of yourself?"

"_What?_" Angela and Brennan shouted together.

Max ignored them. "It was easy when they were just bodies, wasn't it? People you didn't know? But you've known Booth for what, a couple of months? Watching him die by inches, hard to stomach, wasn't it?"

"Dad, what are you saying?" Brennan was confused. Her stomach churned. _No…no…no… _the word echoed in her head.

"He's not sick," Angela said, her voice shaking. "He can't be The Professor."

"He's not," Max said. "He's helping him."

"He can't be!" Brennan said. _No…no…no…_

"Think about it, Tempe," her father said, his gaze locked onto the shaking assistant. "The letter. No one saw it put out there, Gates finds it. No prints nothing. Not even his when he oh-so-conveniently comes across it."

"Gloves…" Gates said desperately. "I had gloves in my pocket!"

"And the new evidence at Roker's apartment…Hodgins said _you_ found it. Again, convenient. The Professor thinking Tempe needed a few hints?" Max snarled.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Gates said. "Dr. Brennan, please, tell him to let me go!"

"And the icing on the cake – you've been talking to The Professor, on the phone!" Max shouted. "I heard you, twice!"

"I told you, that was my mom!" Gates shouted.

Max picked Gates up and slammed him against the wall. Angela screamed. Brennan stood frozen by Booth's bed. This couldn't be happening. She was having a nightmare. That had to be it.

Max put his face inches from Gates. "That would be interesting. I tried to call your mom, to check up on you. Know what I found out?"

What little color that had remained on Gates' face vanished. He stared at Max in terror.

"I found out," Max said, his voice deceptively soft, "that your mother died of cancer _three years ago!_"

For a second, everything in the room seemed to stop for Brennan. Then Gates turned tear-filled eyes to her. "Dr. Brennan, I'm sorry, please, I can explain…"

Something snapped in Brennan.

This wasn't Zack, who made bad logical choices and killed someone. Zack had risked serious injury to protect Hodgins even while working for Gormagon.

Zack would never have let that monster hurt Booth.

She was moving before she realized it. Her father took one look at her and moved out of the way. Her fist was swinging, barely missing her dad, connecting with the side of Gates' face and knocking him to the floor.

She dropped to her knees and grabbed Gates' shirt. "Where is The Professor? Who is he?"

"I don't know," Gates said, sobbing. "I swear I don't know!"

Max leaned down and dragged Gates to his feet. He pinned him to the wall with his forearm across the assistant's throat.

"I'm going to explain something to you," Max said.

Brennan remembered how her father had been with the bounty hunter they'd interrogated when Booth had gone missing a couple of years ago. He'd been a teddy bear compared to now.

"Agent Booth," Max continued, "has done many things on behalf of my children. So, in my mind, I owe him a debt. And in the name of that debt I swear to you that if you don't tell us everything and help us find this monster, and Booth dies, that I will come for you and I will make you wish _you'd_ been given the toxin before I kill you. No one – no government, no agency, no God, will be able to stop me. This is not a threat. This is a promise. Do you understand?"

Gates, his face turning red from the pressure on his throat, nodded. Max eased up so he could catch his breath. Over his shoulder, he said, "Tempe, make sure we haven't worried anyone with the noise here. Angela – can you hook us up with your laptop to the Jeffersonian without making the machines in here go haywire?"

Angela, her face pale, managed to nod. "I'll get it out of the car. I'll be right back."

Before Brennan left, she looked at her former assistant. A bruise was forming on his left temple that was a perfect match for her knuckles. The eye was going to sport quite a shiner.

She walked up to him and hissed, "If Booth dies, you'd better pray my father finds you before I do."

She then went to make sure they wouldn't be interrupted for a while.

* * *

**A/N2: I know Gates was pretty obvious...it's the one thing I'm not happy about with this story. I hope it hasn't ruined it for anyone...**

**Again, please don't hurt me! I promise, if you trust me, you'll be happy in the end! Really!**


	21. Clues and a Name

**A/N: Yay! I'm still alive! And I'm very sorry. I thought I'd uploaded this chapter this morning. You're getting two for the price of one tonight in apology...Chapter 22 is coming right up!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the television show "Bones." I do own some Itunes credit, which got reduced significantly this morning as I bought FOUR season 4 episodes!**

_Approximately 45 hours after the injection…_

Brennan was glad Angela was able to set up a minor command post with both women's laptops on the empty bed in Booth's room. She didn't want to leave him, even now.

While Angela set up she'd scrounged up a couple of extra chairs. The room was terribly crowded with people and furniture and if a doctor or nurse walked in they'd probably all get tossed out. Brennan didn't care.

Gates sat between the two women. Max had refused a chair, preferring to stand behind the blond man, his hands firmly on Gates' shoulders.

The computer's reception was clear, so the shock and disapproval of the gang back at the Jeffersonian was easily detected. It was hard to tell who was angrier at the moment – Hodgins or Cam. Brennan decided her boss had the edge – if looks could kill, Gates would need a crash cart.

Brennan spoke over the overlapping questions of those at the lab. "We don't have time for this! We need to find out what Mr. Gates knows and see if it helps us find The Professor!"

Everyone got quiet. Max leaned down and spoke into Gates' ear. "All right. What do you know?"

Gates swallowed. He seemed to have aged in the last few minutes, looking haggard, his blond hair dull and lank.

"Not long after I came to work at the Jeffersonian," he started, "I got home and got jumped before I could get into my place."

"Did you see who?" Brennan asked.

He shook his head. "He came up behind me, slapped a cloth with drugs on it over my nose and mouth. I was out like a light."

He shuddered. "When I woke up…I was in a basement. There was a light bulb overhead, and a bed with a nightstand by it and a toilet…and…and a woman I'm pretty sure now was Leslie Roker."

Carl Peterson's eyes narrowed. He'd said very little, just stood behind Jack with a smug smile on his face. But at the mention of his assistant, he appeared more interested.

"She – she was tied up," Gates stammered. "But she was sweating like crazy, her whole body shaking…and she was in pain. I – I've never seen someone in that much pain before. She was writhing on the floor and the only reason I didn't hear her screaming was she was gagged."

Angela made a small shocked sound. Carl's lips tightened.

"There was an intercom," Gates continued. "A man's voice, he told me – he told me if I didn't do exactly what he said I would – he'd give me what he'd given her. Then he told me to take off her gag and wait for instructions."

"And you just did?" Hodgins asked.

"I didn't have a choice!" Gates cried. "I didn't want to…but I did what he said. She started screaming…screaming…I still hear it sometimes, when I'm sleeping…" he dropped his face into his hands.

Max shook him. "What else?"

"I – I watched her die," Gates mumbled into his hands. "Then, when The Professor heard her stop screaming, he asked if she were dead. When I said yes, he told me to open the drawer of the nightstand and inject myself with the syringe I found there. He said if I didn't he'd come in and inject me with – with what killed her."

Gates was clearly upset. Brennan tried to ignore it. She didn't want to feel sorry for him, not after what he'd done to Booth.

"I did as he said and got real sleepy. I lay on the bed. Next thing I knew, I was back in my car. There was a cell phone and a note in the passenger seat."

"You still have the note?" Hodgins asked.

Gates shook his head. "He told me to destroy it after I read it. The phone was for us to communicate – he'd text me and then I had to call this one number whenever he wanted to talk to me. The note said he wanted me to report to him our progress on any of the murders attributed to him."

"Report? And sabotage?" Cam asked, her voice hard.

"No," Gates shook his head. "I was supposed to do whatever Dr. Brennan told me – no more, no less."

Gates wiped his sweating face with a shaking hand. "As time went on, the calls got more frequent. He'd be mad, wondering what was taking so long. He - he knows you, Dr. Brennan - he called you "Temperance" and said you must've gotten dumber than when you were together. He – he's sick, like Angela said. Sometimes he'd complain of horrible headaches."

"What about Booth?" Brennan asked.

Gates looked ashamed. "The other day, he told me to try to find out when Booth would be alone. Said he had to move up the schedule. I happened to hear you guys talking when he dropped you back to the Jeffersonian and found out he'd be watching TV at home. When The Professor called, I told him."

Brennan clenched her fists. She had to force herself not to wrap her hands around Gates' neck and squeeze the life out of him. "You set Booth up for him. How could you do that?"

"I – I didn't know he'd attack him," Gates stammered.

Max swore and slapped the back of Gates' head. "There's no way you're that stupid. How could you not know? How could you hand over a victim to him?"

"It might've been me if it wasn't Booth!" Gates said. "I couldn't chance that. I'm sorry I couldn't, but I'm not that kind of guy."

Brennan felt herself trembling with rage. "Booth would've done it for you," she hissed.

Gates hung his head. Cam spoke up. "Is that all you know?"

"I – I talked him into letting me plant the evidence at Ms. Roker's place. I said giving you one clue wouldn't make you any less worthy of him…" Gates looked at Brennan, tears in his eyes. "I know I'm scum, Dr. Brennan. I'm sorry. That's not much but it's all I have."

"There's gotta be more," Max said.

"There isn't," Gates said.

Max shook the man. "Think! You've talked to him. What did he say? You said he complained of headaches. Anything related to that?"

Gates shut his eyes. Brennan found herself holding her breath. She heard a groan from Booth and knew his time was slipping away.

Finally, Gates opened his eyes. "This week…he said something, I don't think it was to me, more like he was talking out loud…something about needing his next injection of Protain – Protain-something…"

"Protainomain?" Carl asked, leaning forward.

Gates nodded. "Yes! That's the word."

"Carl?" Brennan asked, feeling a tiny sliver of hope.

The biochemist looked thoughtful. "Protainomain is a drug I helped develop that we're doing clinical trials on in the area. It's to help ease the suffering of those with terminal brain tumors."

Everyone looked more alert. "Was Leslie Roker helping you with the trials?" Cam asked.

"Yes," Carl said, "among others."

"We need a list of those on the trial," Brennan said. She looked at Angels.

"Point me to a website and I'm so there," the artist said. At Carl's hesitation, she snapped, "I could find it and hack into it, but it'll take time. So just spit it out."

With a sigh Carl gave her the necessary addresses and access codes. Angela frowned as she looked over the list. "There's over 3,000 names here!"

Brennan's heart sank. Too many names. She'd never be able to find the one they needed…

"Narrow it down," Sweets said thoughtfully. "Take out all the women and children – we know The Professor is a man."

Angela nodded. "That brings it down to about eighteen hundred."

"Try focusing on those in the Richmond area," Hodgins suggested. "All the particulate evidence we've gotten points to there."

Angela nodded, biting her lip as she entered the parameters. "Okay…700."

Cam looked thoughtful. "Am I correct that you all divided the patients you treated between you? And is that part of the database?"

Carl nodded. "Yes, of course. It's a way to keep track of the results."

Cam turned back to the screen. "Angela, pull only those who were treated by Leslie Roker. The Professor must have met her somehow – that way makes sense."

"Got it…" Angela said. "Okay, 144 names."

"Let me see," Brennan said. She slid into the seat Angela vacated, and began to look through the list of names.

Two thirds of the way down the list, a name leapt out at her. She made no sound, but Angela saw her expression. "Sweetie?"

Mute, Brennan pointed to the name. Angela gasped. "_Him_?"

"It makes sense," Brennan said, swallowing. She pulled out her GPS device and entered the address. "We have to hurry. Carl, come down here and talk to Booth's doctor. Make sure you can administer the antitoxin as soon as I get back."

"Temperance?" Carl asked, looking uncomfortable, "How far away is this person?"

She watched as her GPS blinked out the information. "Sixty miles." She glanced out the window…it was dark, too dark. "Is it still foggy?"

"Yes, it's getting worse," Sweets said. "They've shut down the airports last I heard."

"Then I'll drive," Brennan said. "Carl –"

"Temperance, listen to me," Carl said. "There is no way you'll get there and back in time. Agent Booth has less than 3 hours. You have no time!"

"Call the FBI," Sweets suggested.

"No!" Brennan said. "If they corner him, he might destroy the antitoxin. He wants me – it's the only hope Booth has."

Carl was relentless. "Temperance, scientifically Agent Booth _has_ no hope."

She felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that she could do the impossible, but her scientific mind told her Carl was right. She'd never get back before the 48 hour mark passed.

A gentle hand on her shoulder startled her. Her father looked at her, sympathetic but determined. "Angela tells me Booth didn't give up on you and Hodgins when _your _time was up."

She knew what he was talking about. A swift glance at Angela confirmed it. Her dad was right.

She leaned into the computer screen. "Hodgins, get Carl down here. Stun him if you have to."

"You got it, Dr. B," Hodgins said, standing.

Carl started to say something but Brennan wasn't listening. She ran to the nightstand next to Booth's bed, yanking open the drawer that held his personal effects. She snatched his car keys.

Max looked at her. "What are you doing?"

"Booth's car has a siren," she said. "It'll be faster."

She hesitated as she looked at the sweating face of her partner. Dimly she heard the other three talking.

"I'm going with Tempe, Angela. Can you handle Gates?"

"I – I won't try anything, Mr. Keenan."

"You got that right. Go with Brennan, Max, I can keep an eye on Judas here until Hodgins arrives."

It occurred to Brennan this might be the last time she saw her partner alive.

Before she could reason her way out of it, she bent down and pressed her lips to his burning forehead. She allowed her fingers to run through his damp hair as she put her lips close to his ear.

"Keep fighting," she whispered. "I'm coming back."

Then she straightened up and left the room, her father right behind her.

**A/N2: There is, of course, no such drug as Protainomain.**

**Hope you liked the chapter! I wanted everyone to have a part in figuring this out, because it's the TEAM that's so cool.**

**More later!**


	22. Meeting the Professor

**A/N: We are getting close to the end here. More answers in this chapter, and I hope it holds your interest!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the show "Bones." But I am one of many fans.**

_Approximately 46 hours after the injection…_

Brennan let out an inpatient hiss as she swerved around a slower moving car in front of her. She swung into her lane as a truck bore down on her. It blew past, an air horn sounding its displeasure.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her father stomp an imaginary brake – again. When he spoke, his voice was higher than usual. "Tempe, do you think you could slow down a little?"

"Look at my GPS," she said. Brennan would have checked it herself but she didn't want to take her eyes off the road. "How far away are we?"

Max looked at the device. "Twenty miles."

She ground her teeth. "I can't slow down. This is taking too long as it is!"

The fog had been the beginning. As they moved out of the DC area a furious thunderstorm had erupted around them, keeping visibility to a minimum.

The siren on Booth's car helped, but not enough. She still had to slow down often, even with the risks she was willing to take.

As if he'd read her mind, Max said, "Baby, we're not gonna be any good to Booth if we wind up in a ditch somewhere."

"I know," she said through gritted teeth. "But we don't have a lot of time! You know that!"

"Booth will hold on," he said. "He'll wait for you to come back. He's not a quitter."

"You heard what Carl said," she said, her voice hard.

He snorted. "What does that egghead know? You know better, Tempe. You know Booth."

She nodded. She did know Booth. She had what Hodgins once called "faith" in him. If there was a way to hang on, he'd find it.

Twenty minutes later, Brennan found a long driveway at the address the GPS had indicated. She turned into it.

The trees that lined the winding driveway forced her to slow down. Max peeked out and whistled. "Wow. This is quite a spread."

Brennan nodded without saying anything. She was still trying to sort out what she was going to do once she confronted The Professor. Why was he doing this? The person she knew would never have become a killer…

Finally, they pulled up to a two story house. Lights blazed out the windows of the first floor. She stopped the car and sat for a moment, gathering her courage.

"Tempe?" Her father had opened the glove compartment of the car. He had her gun in his hand. "Ready to go?"

Brennan took the gun from her father. At his scowl, she said, "Dad, I have to do this. Please, trust me."

"I'm not letting you go in there alone, Tempe."

"I know, Dad," she said. "But this time I'm going to carry the gun."

He nodded. Together they walked up the steps. Temperance didn't bother with the doorbell, she merely tried the door. The knob turned easily in her hand.

She stepped inside, her father close behind. The foyer was brightly lit. A red and black Oriental rug softened their steps.

A bald man stepped into the foyer. He wore a white dress shirt and gray pants. His face was pinched. But when he saw Brennan and her father standing there, he broke into a smile.

"Hello, Temperance," he said, his hands in his pockets.

Brennan swallowed. She remembered the last time she'd seen this man. When his head was covered with hair. When her belief in his integrity had been shattered. When he betrayed her.

She'd known when she saw his name on the list. Still, seeing him was a shock. She held her gun in both hands but kept it pointed to the floor.

"Hello, Michael," she said, her voice hushed.

Michael nodded. "I knew you were smart enough." His voice was strained, but pleasant. He turned to her father. "And who is this?"

"Max Keenan." Unlike Michael, his voice was angry. "Who are you, anyway?"

Michael smiled again as he took a slight bow. "Doctor Michael Stires. Otherwise known as The Professor."

"Michael," she breathed. "Michael, I need the antitoxin. Booth is dying."

"I know," Stires said. "You're cutting it pretty close, Temperance. You ought to have been a bit faster."

"It's over, Michael," she insisted. "I've won. I've caught you. Now give me the antitoxin and I'll call the FBI to come pick you up."

The Professor shook his head as he winced. "No, Temperance."

Max took a step forward. "You heard her."

Stires pulled his right hand out of his pocket. He was holding a gun. "Mr. Keenan, I strongly suggest you not move."

"Dad, don't." Brennan said as she raised her gun. "Michael, drop the gun!"

"No Temperance, not yet," Michael said. "I said if you found me, you'd be worthy. You have no idea how glad I am you've proven yourself. Like Agent Booth, I don't have a lot of time."

"Michael, what do you want from me?" Brennan said. She wanted him to drop the gun. She wanted the antitoxin. She could almost hear the seconds ticking by, seconds Booth couldn't afford.

"I haven't forgiven you, you know," Stires said, his bloodshot eyes sparking with anger. "You made me look like a fool at that trial. You and your precious Agent Booth. I wasn't sorry to make him a victim – a little bit of a payback, if you will."

She felt a spike of anger. "Stop it. You were helping to get murderers off. We did what we had to."

"Of course you see it that way," Stires said, waving his hand, which trembled slightly. "I could never escape your shadow after that – I always seemed to come in second place to the _great_ Temperance Brennan." He said the last with a sneer.

"Then, the kicker – a few months ago I get diagnosed with a brain tumor! I'm told I'm going to die – losing my mind. Can you imagine a worse fate? I decided I wouldn't settle for that.

The idea came to me when I met Leslie Roker. I wanted to choose my fate. But I wanted to be sure that my choice was worthy of the privilege. I thought of you immediately."

He winced again, his hand going to his head. "But I had to be _sure_. The toxin was my way of doing so. I simply had to make sure that the cases would be sent to you."

"You killed people so I would find you?" She couldn't believe it.

"That's crazy!" Max said.

Stires' face darkened. "_I am not crazy!_" he shouted. "_Do _not_ say that!_"

"Michael," Brennan said, trying to get his attention and his gun away from her father, "Why did you attack Booth? You said you had to hurry."

He nodded, looking a little calmer. "I spoke to my doctor that day. I was told my time was greatly shortened. I have weeks, at best."

He grimaced. "I have a brain tumor, Temperance. It's killing me. Painfully. Slowly. It's a terrible way to die, an ignomious way. I deserve better."

"So what do you want? You want Temperance to kill you?" Max asked, snorting.

To her horror, Stires nodded. "Exactly, Mr. Keenan." He turned to Brennan. "If you want the antitoxin, Temperance, you will have to kill me."


	23. Hard Choices

**A/N: Okay, here's the next chappie! You guys are great, have I said that enough? You've made this a joy.**

**BTW, three more chapters after this!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Bones." I do own some Godiva chocolate...**

_He IS insane_.

Brennan fought to hold her gun steady, both hands sweating as she gripped her weapon. He wanted her to kill him? Simply shoot him where he stood?

Her father snorted. "If you want to die so fast, why not just take that gun you're holding and point it at your face and pull the trigger?"

Stires looked offended. "Suicide? What kind of epitaph would that be?" He turned back to Brennan, his smile returning. "But, to be murdered by the famous Dr. Temperance Brennan…ah, that's a way to be remembered."

_Murder_.

Could she do that? Shoot a man down? Even for Booth?

"Tempe, let me have your gun," Max said, stepping to her side.

"Dad, what are you doing?" she asked.

"You're not someone who can murder someone. I can," Max said.

"Stop!" Stires said. "Mr. Keenan, step away from Temperance, get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head or I will put a bullet between your eyes."

She felt a surge of panic. "Michael! Stop!"

"I want _you_ to kill me Temperance. Not some nobody," Stires said.

Brennan looked at her father, who looked ready to explode. "I can take him, Tempe."

She shook her head. "Dad, think," she said, her voice low. "We don't know where the antitoxin is. If it's in his pocket, and we try something and he falls…"

"Excellent, Temperance!" Stires said. "Yes, you are truly worthy. Now, _Dad_, I suggest you do as I say before I try to kill you and force Temperance to kill me before she finds the anti-toxin."

"Do as he says," Brennan told her father.

"Tempe…"

"Please!" she said.

Her father sighed. He got down on his knees and put his hands on his head. "Happy, Doctor?"

"Yes," Stires said. He gestured with the gun in his hand. "Now, Temperance, will you follow me into the kitchen?"

"What are you doing?" Max asked.

"She wants the anti-toxin," Stires said. "I'm taking her to it."

Brennan swallowed. "Dad, I'll be fine. Just stay here."

"Yes, Dad, stay here," Stires said. "And stay out of the kitchen, or I'll start shooting. And while I don't want to kill Temperance, who knows what would happen?"

Max's teeth ground together. He glanced over at his daughter. "If you hurt her, Stires, I won't make your death painless or easy."

"My death now is neither," Stires said. "Coming, Temperance?"

She nodded. Keeping her gun on Stires, she followed him down the hallway.

"Have you taken a chance to admire my spread here?" Stires said as they walked.

"That's not why I'm here," she said as they entered a large state-of-the-art kitchen.

"A shame," Stires said. "It was handy, this place. I could conduct my…tasks here. A young man lives in a caretaker cottage not far from here. Not very intelligent, I'm afraid. But, in this case, helpful."

She shook her head as they came to a large butcher block table that stood in the middle of the room. "I don't have time for this, Michael. Would you just please give me the anti-toxin?"

He smiled as he stopped at one end of the table where a black bag rested. "Single-minded as always, Temperance." He waved the gun at her. "Please, stop right there."

She stopped, her gun still trained on him. Stires smiled, which turned into a grimace as he put a hand to his head. "I won't miss these headaches, that's for sure."

He reached into the black bag and pulled out a cylindrical glass bottle. It was topped by a rubber stopper. She couldn't help but stare at the amber liquid inside.

"There it is, Temperance," Stires said as he placed it on the table between them. "Your only hope for your partner. Do you want it? Then kill me. Now." He looked straight into her eyes, his gun pointed at her, keeping her from rushing towards him and grabbing the bottle off the table.

She felt the gun shake in her hands. She wanted to kill him. He'd murdered four people in a cruel and painful manner. Her partner was in a hospital dying this very moment because of Stires' insane thought patterns.

But she couldn't make herself do it. She felt tears fill her eyes_. Booth, forgive me. I can't murder someone in cold blood - not even for you._

Stires stared at her for a moment. An unwilling smile tugged his lips. "Ah, Temperance. Still clinging to a moral code."

"Michael, just please put down the gun. Please."

He pondered, then shrugged. "Very well, Temperance. I'll make it easier for you."

Still keeping his gun on Brennan, Stires stepped back and pulled open a drawer next to the metal sink. He pulled out a small hammer.

Back at the table, Stires moved the bag off the table. "Here's what will happen, Temperance. "I'm going to count to three. On the count of three I will bring down this hammer on this bottle, smashing it and taking away your last chance to save Agent Booth. You have only one way to stop me."

Brennan gasped as Stires lifted the hammer above his head. "Michael! Please, listen to me!"

"One," Stires said, waving the hammer.

"Please, don't do this…" she said.

"Two." The hammer was cocked back.

Her eyes went from the bottle to the hammer to Michael's gun. She thought her heart would slam right out of her chest.

"Thr-" The hammer started to move.

She fired.

The bullet struck his chest, causing him to stagger back a step. His gun sagged downwards. The hammer clattered to the floor, followed by Stires' body.

"Tempe!" Her father dashed into the room. A look of relief flooded his face as he saw she was still standing.

Brennan ran to Stires. His eyes were open, his breathing labored. She suspected she'd punctured his lung. She wished she felt sorry for him.

Dropping to her knees, Brennan pulled out her phone. "I'll dial 911. Hang on, Michael –"

"No point," he wheezed. To her amazement, he smiled, his lips stained with blood. "I'm – I'm grateful, Temperance. And proud. You – You win."

"Sweetheart?" Max asked.

She blinked her eyes. Stires' eyes were fixed, staring at nothing. She started to shake.

"Temperance," Max said. "Booth."

She started. Her partner's name broke her from the paralysis from killing Stires. Brennan got to her feet and picked up the bottle. She was shaking. "Dad, I need something to wrap this in, I can't risk it breaking…"

Max grabbed a dishtowel from next to the sink. "Here. Let's go, sweetheart."

Brennan wrapped the bottle in the towel. She handed her gun to Max and held the wrapped bottle of anti-toxin as if it were delicate china. Together they ran out of the house to Booth's car.

She made a Y turn and headed down the winding driveway. Halfway down she saw headlights splashing in front of her, along with flashing lights and sirens. Swearing, she slammed on the brakes. She'd forgotten she had a siren too.

"Dad, stay in the car," she said, shifting into park. She heard doors slam outside and hoped she could hurry them along. She was afraid that her father's presence wouldn't help.

Brennan eased out of the car, making sure her hands were visible to the officers. "Excuse me…"

The officers had their guns out. "Stay right there, ma'am. We had a call from someone at the house here about a gunshot?"

_The caretaker_. Brennan tried to still the panic she felt. "Please, there was an incident, but I have to get back to Washington, DC. It's urgent."

"I'm afraid not," one of the officers snapped. "What do you mean by an 'incident?'"

She tried to keep her voice calm but Brennan was finding it impossible to compartmentalize. "Please! A man's life is at stake!"

"I need to know what happened, ma'am!"

Brennan lost her last bit of control. "If I don't leave right now my partner will die! Call Deputy Director Cullen of the FBI! He'll tell you!"

Max stepped out of the car. "Gentlemen, I really think you should listen to her."

The officers kept their guns trained on the two of them. "I'm not sure we can let you go. Not without answers."

Brennan pulled out her phone. She saw the officers tense. "It's my phone! Come see!"

The younger officer, a blond man with a wisp of hair above his mouth, approached her carefully. "It's a phone," he said to his partner.

"I just want to make a phone call," Brennan said. "Deputy Director Cullen of the FBI."

The officers swapped looks. "All right. Quickly."

Brennan dialed the number. Ten agonizing minutes later she had Cullen on the phone. Fully aware of the officers listening, she simply said she'd found The Professor and had the anti-toxin but the police were preventing her from leaving the premises.

"Why are the police there?" Cullen asked.

"There was a report of a gunshot," she admitted.

"Did you have to shoot him, Dr. Brennan?"

She swallowed. "That would be accurate."

"All right," Cullen said. "Let me talk to the lead officer."

Brennan held out the phone. "He wants to talk to the lead officer."

She forced herself to wait. Her father came to stand beside her, an arm around her shoulders.

It seemed to take forever. The officer seemed to talk and talk, at one point having his partner use the radio – checking that Cullen was really who he said he was, no doubt.

Finally, the officer hung up the phone and handed back to Brennan. "You're free to go, ma'am. Deputy Director Cullen said you would be available for questions at some point –"

He was talking to the air. The minute she'd heard "free to go" Brennan dashed for the driver's seat. The police cars barely had time to get out of the way before she barreled down the driveway, her father hastily buckling his seatbelt.

She turned onto the road, trying to blink back the tears that threatened to blur her vision. They'd been delayed and delayed, and there was no way she'd get back before the 48 hour deadline passed.

She didn't believe in Booth's God. But she did believe in Booth. That was the only thought that kept her from curling into herself and crying herself to exhaustion.

_Hang on Booth. Please. I'm coming_.


	24. Past the Deadline

**A/N: Next chapter! We're getting close...**

**Disclaimer: Fox and Hart Hanson own Bones. I own a muse who needs to get to work...**

_Approximately 48 ½ hours after the injection…_

Brennan breathed a sigh of relief when the lights of DC became visible through the shifting windshield wipers. The siren continued to wail, and she was forced to will back the headache that she'd been suffering for the past half hour.

Her driving was more reckless than before. Max swore and stiffened as the wheels lost traction and the SUV skidded slightly. "Temperance!"

"I have it, I have it!" she said, getting control of the car again.

"Baby, please, I'm gonna have a heart attack."

"I'm sorry, Dad," she said. "I just – I just have to get there!'

She'd heart from Cullen on the crazy drive back to the hospital. He was less than thrilled that she'd killed Stires, but calmed down once she'd told him the whole story. He'd sent FBI agents to Stires home to gather evidence and assist the police, and an agent to pick Gates up from the hospital.

Now that she was close, she called Angela. The artist told her that Gates had been picked up by Charlie and that Hodgins and Peterson had arrived. "Sweetie, I don't know who's more stubborn, Booth's doctor or Peterson. They have this whole argument going on."

"We're almost there, Angela. Make sure they're ready." Brennan swallowed and asked the question that frightened her. "How's Booth?"

The silence that greeted this question sent a bolt of fear through Brennan. "Ange! He isn't –"

"_Hurry_, Sweetie," Angela whispered.

She nodded, not able to prevent the tears that slipped down her cheeks. Realizing that Angela couldn't see her nod, she said, "I'm hurrying, Ange. I am."

Finally they were at the hospital. "Pull up by the front door and put it in park," Max said.

Brennan brought the SUV to a screeching halt. Her father thrust the dishtowel-wrapped vial into her hands. "Go. I'll park the car. Go!"

She took a second to convey her gratitude to her father. "Dad –"

"I know, Tempe – _Go!_"

She hit the ground running. Brennan ran, seeing faces and walls flash by her without taking any of it in. It was fortunate that people took one look at this racing, wide-eyed woman and dashed out of her way – in her current state of mind she would have run over someone without a second thought.

Brennan was going so fast she almost ran past the door to Booth's room. She had to grab the jamb to stop herself, the vial cradled in her other arm.

She struggled to catch her breath. Angela was sitting by Booth's bed, Hodgins standing behind her. Peterson and Booth's doctor – _Wilson_, she remembered, turned at her noisy entrance.

Her eyes went to the bed. For a horrifying moment, she thought she was too late. Booth's face was almost without color. Then as she watched he took a labored breath. It was apparently difficult for him, and she held her own breath, wondering if it were his last.

"Bren!" Angela stood up and ran to her. The artist's face was tear-streaked.

Shaking off her shock, she held her precious cargo to Peterson. "I have the anti-toxin – give it to him."

Carl unwrapped the dishtowel and examined the bottle. He frowned as he studied the label. "This is my anti-toxin, but Tempe…it's probably too late, he's nearly gone."

"Carl, he's not gone! Give it to him!"

Dr. Wilson stepped up to Brennan, his expression stern. "Dr. Brennan, with all due respect, I can't authorize administering an untested, experimental drug to Agent Booth –"

Her self-control snapped. She grabbed Wilson by the lapels of his lab coat and shouted, "Listen to me! You can't do anything to stop him from dying! This is the _only_ chance he has! Let Dr. Peterson give it to him or get out of my way so _I_ can!"

White, Wilson stepped back. Brennan turned her glare to Peterson. With a nervous nod, the biochemist grabbed a syringe from a tray by Booth's bed. He pulled the amber fluid from the bottle and then, with a deep breath, injected it into Booth's IV.

Brennan tried to slow her galloping heart, her ragged breathing. "When will we know…?"

Carl shook his head. "I'm not sure." He looked at the monitors and sighed. "Tempe, there's an excellent chance it won't help. He shouldn't even be alive right now."

Wilson ran a hand through his graying hair. "I'll remain on site here…just in case. I'll have a nurse monitor him –"

"I'll do it," Brennan said. She sat in the chair Angela had vacated and took Booth's hot, shaking hand in both hers.

"That's not necessary –" Wilson began, but stopped when Brennan shot him a look.

Hodgins laughed. "Dude, no way you're gonna win this argument."

"I see," Wilson said. "I'm sure you know to alert the nurses if there's any changes…" when Brennan nodded he turned to the biochemist. "Dr. Peterson, would you like to stay over? I can show you a place to rest."

Peterson was looking at Booth and the monitors that measured the agent's tenuous hold on life. "I wouldn't mind assisting Temperance with watching Agent Booth…"

Brennan switched her laser glare at Peterson. Her expression was a serious warning – no one in the hospital room would have been surprised to hear her snarl.

"I – I suppose you'd best show me that break room you were talking about," Peterson said. He paused to give Booth a long, troubling look, and then followed Wilson out.

Angela put a light hand on her friend's shoulder. "Do you need anything?"

"Coffee," Brennan said, never taking her eyes off her partner's face.

"Okay," Angela said. Brennan felt her friend's lips on her hair. "I'll bring the coffee and Jack and I will wait in the waiting room…unless you want company?"

"I'm fine, Ange," she said. "I – I want to be alone with him, if that's okay."

"I understand," Angela said softly. Brennan heard the two of them leave.

Brennan took one hand off of Booth's to brush his face. She knew that being alone with him was not necessary. She couldn't explain why she insisted on it.

Except that he made her feel. It angered her, sometimes. She remembered when he'd shown up alive at his "funeral." She'd been angry, because try as she might she couldn't compartmentalize her feelings when it came to her partner.

So she stayed alone with him, because if he was going to make her feel again, she wanted to be able to do it without others watching. She wanted to give him at least that, even if it were only to express grief at his passing.

She took the washcloth from the basin on the nightstand and wrung it out. She wiped the sweat off his face, speaking softly. "Booth, I don't know if you can hear me. I hope you can't in a way, because if you can you must be in terrible pain…"

She gulped. "I'm sorry. I don't want you to think about that. I – I just want you to know that I'm here, and I'll be here."

She cupped his large hand in her two smaller ones. "I'll be here as long as you need me, Booth. Don't worry. I'll wait."

**A/N2: ...and you have to endure a _little_ more torture! But just a little, because I'll have the next chapter up tomorrow...**


	25. A Dream and a Miracle

**A/N: Okay, you've been good, complimentary, patient readers...hopefully this will reward all that!**

**Disclaimer: Fox Broadcasting and Hart Hanson own "Bones."**

_Approximately 51 hours after the injection…_

_Brennan was running up a flight of white steps. Blackness extended to either side of the steps, and they seemed to go up and up forever._

_Suddenly Patrick Gates, his face contorted, stood in her way. "Dr. Brennan, you can't go on! I'm sorry!"_

_Zack suddenly came up behind Gates. "You are an inadequate replacement for me." He pulled out a large rubber mallet and struck Gates in the head with it. The lab assistant tumbled off the stairs into the darkness. _

_Zack stepped to the side without a word. Brennan nodded her thanks and ran on._

_Further up the steps Carl Peterson was hopping around, a large pocket watch in his hand. "It's too late! It's too late!" he shouted._

_She shoved him off the stairs. His echoing "It's too laaaaaaaaaaate!" followed her as she ran on._

_She skidded to a halt as Michael blocked her way, a mortarboard on his head and a blackboard next to him. "You can't go on, Temperance, until you name all the bones in the body. Can you?"_

_"Can you?" she countered._

_"Of course I can!" Michael said. "There's…" his voice faded as he struggled to name even one. After a moment, a look of disgust crossed his face. He pushed the blackboard off the stairs and jumped off after it._

_She could see the top now. She saw Booth._

_He was laying on a white dais. A navy blue blanket covered him up to his chest, his hands folded on top of it._

_She came to his side. His eyes were closed, his face pale. He wasn't breathing. Surprisingly, she wasn't alarmed or afraid._

_Brennan put her hands on her partner's cool cheeks. She bent down and pressed her lips to his. Unlike his skin, his lips were warm._

_She pulled back to look into his face. His cheeks warmed under her fingers. Booth's eyes opened, warm and brown. They sparkled as he smiled at her. His lips parted…_

"Bones…?"

She jerked her head up at the faint sound of her nickname. Brennan realized she'd fallen asleep with her head on Booth's bed. Confused memories of Angela, Jack, her father coming in from time to time came and went. She looked at the hand she still held, even in sleep. The fingers moved.

She focused on his face. Slowly, Booth's eyes opened. Unlike the Booth in her dreams, his eyes were cloudy with pain and exhaustion. They found her face.

"Booth?" her mind scouted around for a question, just to hear him speak again, to make sure she wasn't imagining it. "How…how are you feeling?"

He grimaced. "Awful." The one word started a brief coughing fit. Before Brennan could react, it stopped. Booth moistened his cracked lips and grinned. "But it… beats being dead…Bones."

Inside her logical mind Brennan realized that the flood of emotion she was feeling was a result of chemicals released at her feeling of relief. But it also meant she couldn't decide if she wanted to laugh or cry. She wound up doing a little of both as she pressed the call button.

"Bones?" His voice was weak, hoarse, but his. He lifted a shaking hand to wipe a tear off her cheek. "You…okay?"

The nurse's voice interrupted. Brennan spoke quickly. "Agent Booth is conscious. Please let the doctor know, and his friends in the waiting room. Also, please send in a cup of ice chips."

"Pudding," Booth said.

"Booth," Brennan said, wiping her face, "Your stomach can't handle anything but ice chips right now."

"Wanna…bet?" he asked. He coughed a little.

She took a deep breath. Taking his hand in both of hers, she said. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" Booth asked, his brow furrowing.

"I was…I was almost too late. I _was _too late." She felt the tears starting again. "Booth, you could have died."

"Nah…" he said, with another small grin. "I knew…you were smarter…than he was."

She smiled back. He wasn't able to pull off his charm smile yet, but she'd take the grin. "I knew…you wouldn't give up."

The grin got a little wider. She stared at him, thinking how close she'd been to having to attend another funeral of his. She swallowed, not wanting to worry him by having her voice crack. "Booth…"

The door opened, and her father, Angela, and Jack all rushed in. "Sweetie!" Angela said, handing Brennan a Styrofoam cup of ice chips with a white plastic spoon stuck inside. "He's awake? Booth, you're awake? You're okay?"

"Hi…to you too…Angela," Booth croaked. He gave a small moan of relief as Brennan slipped some ice chips into his mouth.

Out of the corner of her eye Brennan saw Angela swipe her eyes and Jack's sigh shudder through his body. She knew how they felt.

Brennan felt her father's hands on her shoulders. "Good to see you with your eyes open, Booth. I don't think I could handle another ride in your car with Tempe behind the wheel…"

Booth almost spit out the ice in his mouth. "My…car?"

"It's all right," she said quickly. "I'm a very good driver."

Before Booth could say anything else, the door opened and Doctors Wilson and Peterson came in. Peterson looked stunned, as if someone had struck him in the head.

Dr. Wilson looked over the monitors and then at Booth. "Well, Agent Booth, it appears that contrary to some people's expectations, you may not die after all."

Carl shook his head, still looking stunned. He stared at Booth, then at Brennan. "Temperance, this is impossible." He stared at Booth. "I've worked on this toxin, I know what it can do. You should _not_ be alive!"

"Carl!" Brennan said, starting to get up. Booth's hand squeezed hers slightly, causing her to sit back down.

Booth grimaced in pain, as Wilson examined him. "Doctor…Peterson…sorry…I disappointed…you."

Carl's mouth dropped. Almost everyone else in the room burst out laughing. Wilson didn't, but Brennan noticed him biting back a smile as he leaned over Booth.

The doctor finished his examination and stood up. Brennan looked at him, anxious.

"Agent Booth, how do you feel?" Wilson asked.

"Hot…hurt," he said. Brennan gave him another spoonful of ice.

"Yes, you still have a fever," Wilson said, looking at the monitors. "But are you feeling better than before?"

Booth nodded, swallowing. "Yes…but…" he held up his hand, which shook badly. 'What about…this?"

Wilson frowned. "I'm not sure. Your symptoms are improving, thankfully. It's going to take a while for you to come back all the way, but this is a good sign."

Peterson shook his head. "I can't predict anything about this. I mean – this is incredible. My research didn't show this as a possibility…this was the first time the anti-toxin was used on a living entity." His face brightened. "I'll have to study this!"

Booth's eyes widened. "But this…" he said, looking at his hand, "this will…go away…won't it?"

Wilson exchanged a look with Peterson. "I believe so, Agent Booth, but we'll have to keep an eye on it."

Booth let his hand fall to the bed and Brennan saw the panic in his eyes. She wrapped his hand in both of hers. "Booth, it's going to be fine. Once you recover from the toxin, you'll be fine."

"Temperance, I don't know about that…" Peterson started.

Max stirred. "Dr. Peterson, you thought your little death cocktail would kill Booth at 48 hours. It didn't. I wouldn't be making any predictions if I were you."

Peterson scowled. Wilson spoke up. "Well, I think that your friends can go home and get some sleep, Agent Booth. I'll be back to check on you tomorrow."

The doctors left. Everyone was quiet for a moment.

"Do you want some more ice, Booth?" Brennan asked softly. He had closed his eyes. He nodded without speaking, his jaw tense.

"Hey, Angela, Hodgins?" Max asked. "I'm gonna take off here, you want to walk me to the parking lot?"

"Sure," Hodgins said. He looked over at Booth, clearly uneasy at the turn of events.

"Sweetie?" Angela said. "Where's your car? We can drop you off there, or back to your place."

Brennan shook her head. "I'm going to stay for a bit, Ange." Booth's eyes flew open and he looked at her. 'That is, if Booth doesn't mind."

He swallowed the melting ice in his mouth. "I…don't mind."

"Okay then," she said.

The others nodded and said their goodbyes. Angela hugged the FBI agent, and Jack squeezed his shoulder. Max was the last to go. He looked Booth straight in the eye. 'Never mind what that idiot of a biochemist said. You're gonna be just fine, Booth. Just fine."

Booth managed a nod. Brennan got up and kissed her father on the cheek. "Dad, thanks for everything."

He hugged her back. "Help him with this, Tempe," he whispered in her ear. "This is frightening for him. And he doesn't like to be frightened."

She nodded. When Max left, she sat down by the bed again and picked up the ice chips. "Your throat must still be sore. Let me give you some ice."

He held his hands out. "Let me…try."

She bit her lip. "Booth, you're still very weak. You're not going to be up to your normal abilities."

He frowned. _"Let_…me try."

She had misgivings, but she handed him the cup and spoon. The ice rattled in the cup. He frowned as he glared at it, trying to still his hand.

"Booth…" She reached for it.

"No," he said. He struggled to put the spoon in the cup, succeeding on the second try. He lifted the spoon out, half filled with ice.

Sweat broke out on his forehead as he tried to bring the spoon to is mouth. It barely cleared the cup when his shaking hand caused the ice to spill off the spoon onto the blanket.

Booth swore, his hand dropping to the blanket as he dropped the spoon. Brennan caught the cup before it joined the ice on the bed.

Booth clenched his fists. He groaned, his eyes squeezed shut. "No…I…can't…"

She put the cup back on the table and placed her hands over his fists. "Booth, you're expecting too much of yourself. The tremors will pass."

"What if…they…don't?" he stuttered.

"They _will_," she said. "Booth, you were on the brink of death three hours ago…you can't expect yourself to be your strong, capable, Alpha male self so soon."

His eyes creaked open. "That sounds…like faith…"

She smiled, blinking back tears. "I _do_ have faith. In you."

He smiled a little. "Thanks…Bones." He frowned as his eyes slipped closed again. "I don't…want to…fall asleep…again."

"It's all right," she said. She grabbed the washcloth and wiped his face again. "You need to rest. It'll help."

His eyes opened slightly. "Will you…rest?"

She looked over to the other bed. "There is a bed over there. I suppose if you sleep, I could rest a bit."

"But you'll…be here."

She stood and gently turned his head so he could see the empty bed. "I'll be right there. If you need me, just call my name."

He nodded. "'Kay…thanks…Bones…"

She watched as his breathing smoothed out. A look at the monitors confirmed that his vital signs were improving. With a sigh she moved to the other bed and stretched out. She turned so she could watch Booth sleep, see the monitors and observe his progress.

Brennan sighed as her own eyes drifted shut. In minutes she was asleep.

**A/N2: One chapter left!**


	26. I'll Always Be There to Help You

**A/N: Well readers, I told you it was coming...here is the last chapter! I've worked hope my in-canon fluff bunnies satisfy you after all the suspense!**

**It has been a genuine pleasure to upload this story for you. Your words of encouragement have made my days bright. Thank you for reviewing, adding to story alerts or favorite story, or just reading this.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. I do have some loaves of homemade sourdough bread, but it's just not the same.**

_Approximately 2 ½ days after Booth regained consciousness…_

"Temperance!"

Brennan bit down a groan of annoyance as she saw Carl heading for her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dr. Wilson toss her an apologetic look as he retreated.

"Carl, can this wait?" she asked. She held up the carryout bag she'd brought. "I'm going in to see Booth."

"That's what I want to talk to you about," Carl said, falling into step with her. "You must make him see reason. I can't."

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "He's improving, isn't he?"

Carl waved a hand. "Yes, and I'm amazed! Temperance, I've learned so much studying him the past couple of days! With the return of my lost notes, I could be on the verge of a breakthrough!"

She sighed. "That's nice, Carl. So you'll be heading back to Richmond?"

"Yes, and that's why I need you to speak with him. I want him to allow me to transfer him to a Richmond hospital I have access to."

She stopped walking. "I thought he was getting better," she said, feeling a thread of worry. "I know he doesn't want to stay in the hospital any longer than he has to."

"He _is_ getting better," Carl said. "But Temperance, it would be _years _before I'd have a chance to study my toxin and its cure on a human subject! The opportunity here –"

Her jaw dropped. "You want Booth to be – be your _lab subject_?"

"Well, you needn't get all outraged about it?" Carl huffed. "He's only an FBI agent, he can be replaced –"

She smacked his clipboard out of his hand. It flew into the wall behind her, clattering to the floor.

Not satisfying, but anything more violent would risk spilling the soup she'd brought for Booth.

"Let me make this clear, Carl," she said, pinning his wide eyes with her own. "Booth is _not_ "only" anything. He is my partner, and you can find someone else to run experiments on. If you don't leave him alone, I swear I will make you pay."

She turned on her heel and walked away. His voice shaking, Carl called out after her. "You used to be a lot less emotional, Temperance. You've changed."

Brennan looked at him over her shoulder and gave him an answer she thought Booth would cheer. "Thank you."

She left him standing there and headed to Booth's room. Hearing voices, she slowed her steps and peeked inside.

Parker was sitting on Booth's bed, his legs swinging back and forth. Rebecca sat in a chair at the foot. She looked up and nodded. "Hello, Dr. Brennan."

"Bones!" Parker was off the bed and running to her. "My dad's sick, but the doctor says he's getting better! Is he?"

She gave the boy a one armed hug while she glanced at Booth. He was sitting up in bed, looking a bit more alert than he had yesterday. There were still dark circles under his eyes and she saw him rub his temple while he thought no one was looking.

He noticed her and his hand (still shaking slightly) dropped back to the bed as he smiled. "Hey, Bones! Is that soup from Mama?"

She looked down at Parker. "Yep, I think you're dad's going to be fine. Why don't you help me bring him this soup?"

"Okay!" Parker walked back with her and started to climb back on the bed. Rebecca stood. "Parker, honey, I think it's time for us to go."

"Aw, Mom!"

"Come on, we'll be back tomorrow. Your dad needs to rest if he's going to get better, you heard the doctor say that."

The child's shoulders slumped. "I wish I could help you get better, Dad."

Booth smiled. "You can."

"How?"

"Come here and give me a hug. That's the best medicine I could have right now."

"Dad," Parker said, rolling his eyes, "hugs aren't medicine, are they Bones?"

She was about to tell Parker that of course hugs were not medicine, but looking at her partner she was reminded of a hug not that long ago. A hug that she wouldn't even tell Angela about – it was too private, and Brennan was still processing her feelings about it.

So she settled for saying, "Your father's right Parker, hugs can benefit someone who is ill. I'm sure your hugs will help your father feel a lot better."

"Okay then, Daddy, you tell me if you feel better," Parker said, wrapping his arms around Booth and hugging tightly.

Booth looked over his son's head at Brennan, his eyes full of thanks as he held Parker. 'Yeah, little man, I'm feeling great, thanks to you. A few more of these and maybe they'll let me out sooner."

Rebecca smiled and bent down to kiss Booth's cheek. "Feel better, Seeley. We'll be back tomorrow."

Parker kissed Booth as well. "Bye Daddy, love you."

"Love you too," Booth said, pressing his lips to his son's hair. He watched as they left. Brennan stood quiet, letting him take the lead.

He gestured to a silver walker by the bed. As he did she realized for the first time that he was dressed not in a hospital gown but a red, white, and blue pajama top. "Look at what I got? They're gonna let me walk around some more!"

"That's good," she said, pulling the chair Rebecca had sat in closer to the head of the bed. "Where'd you get the pajamas?"

"These? Sweets," Booth looked down at them and grinned. "Could've been worse, the kid might've gotten me Power Rangers or something."

"What?"

He shook his head. "Never mind." Booth stared at the takeout bag and carefully reached for it. His hand still trembled. "I wonder if I'll be able to eat this without wearing it?"

"What did Doctor Wilson say?" she asked, pulling out napkins and a spoon.

Booth sighed. "He said the toxin was potent, and while the antitoxin kept me from dying, it didn't entirely eliminate the poison." He waved his hand where an IV needle was still attached. "So he says they need to flush out my system. _And_ I need to rest and let my body heal."

"You're going to get better," she said, opening up the soup container. Booth leaned forward and sniffed it, a look of anticipation on his face.

He picked up the spoon. It shook in his hand. He looked from soup to spoon. Brennan saw the worry in his eyes.

"Here," she said. She tucked two of the napkins under his chin and then folded one on her hand. With her other hand she guided Booth's spoon to the soup, holding his wrist just tightly enough to provide a light support.

He carefully brought the spoon to his lips. Before it got there some of it shook off into the napkin Brennan held. He swore.

"It's all right," she said quietly. She helped him get it into his mouth. "You'll be fine. One step at a time, Booth. We'll get there."

He sighed. "We?"

She nodded. "We're partners. I'm going to help you. You've helped me, when it comes to heart things, I'll help you while you recover physically."

Booth stared at her for a long moment. Then, for the first time since she'd gotten his call for help nights ago, he gave her his charm smile. "That sounds…like a great idea, Bones. Thanks."

She smiled. He had been there for her so many times, it was nice to be able to return the favor. "You're welcome. Now, you should finish your soup before it gets cold."

He resisted her efforts slightly. "Bones. Thanks…" he took a deep breath. "Thanks for being there for me. For saving my life. For…" his cheeks reddened and she understood it wasn't just fever, "for the other night, the…the 'partners' thing."

She felt her own cheeks heat up. "Again. You're welcome. Now, eat your soup and then maybe you'd like to try walking? I'll help."

He nodded as with her help the soup got to his mouth without spilling a drop. "Thanks. I think I can do it if you're there to help me."

She smiled again as she kept feeding him soup. She couldn't say what she was thinking out loud – it was too much heart, and a promise she didn't know if she could keep. But she could think it.

_I'll always be there to help you, Booth. Always._

**A/N2: All right, people, the ride has come to a complete stop. Please gather your belongings, take small children by the hand, and exit safely.**

**Furbys, it's time to go. Yes, you can take some sourdough bread - make sure you take enough for everyone. No, no chocolate, sorry. Thanks for visiting, maybe we'll meet again.**

**Until the muse hits me again...**


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